


The Incompetent Turn Competent

by Sean_Jacobs



Series: Colours [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Dark Harry, Dark Magic, F/M, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Homophobia, Legilimency, M/M, Occlumency, Parseltongue, Powerful Harry, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 64,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sean_Jacobs/pseuds/Sean_Jacobs
Summary: The year begins with a bang, creating rifts between friends and uniting foes. The Ministry is unsure of how to approach the fact that nothing is going right and the Minister for Magic is the target of plots of assassination. Perhaps they should increase security or, maybe, just use the children of Hogwarts as a liaison for potential allies.Part four of seven! (4/7)Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire rewrite.





	1. A Slight Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Before we start: The titles of the stories will most likely change (except this one). I suggest you bookmark or make a note. It's a part of the rewrite to give the more story depth and a lasting impact. Yes, I will miss the simplicity of the colours universe, but this story is nothing but simple. If you're reading this part, I have not yet decided the tasks for the Triwizard Tournament. I am open to suggestions, but it will be happening and it will be different.
> 
> P.S: Chapters in this part should be longer. This is more of an opening than anything, hence why it's only 4000 words long instead of 6000 - 8000.

Chapter 1 – **A Slight Reunion**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Harry sat at a table in the Leaky Cauldron, one that had been pressed the wall and allowed for a medium of privacy. He watched, his hands grasping around a cup of lukewarm tea, as people slowly trickled in and gaped, their eyes darting at the building and patrons inside in what appeared to be utter shock. He had, of course, done the same thing when he had entered the pub via the Floo.

The fresh new coat of paint, which seemed to be done in warm and inviting colours, was the first to catch the eyes of the patrons. Next was the new chairs and tables that looked like they had been mass produced by some kind of Muggle store. However, the most shocking thing was how clean the place looked. The entire building appeared as if it was brand-new.

Harry had spoken to Tom, the barkeep, about the pub and what the man’s plans were with it. It shocked him that the man now suddenly cared about how well kept the pub looked. It hardly took any probing to learn that Tom was improving the pub solely because of the Quidditch World Cup. The Ministry had decided that Diagon Alley is where all the foreign witch and wizards would appear and that they deserved to see how fine the magical side of London was.

He really should have known that the only reason that Tom had renovated was because the Ministry pushed. The man would sooner see the Leaky Cauldron collapse on itself than willingly tidy it up. Sadly, going into Diagon Alley at this stage was next to impossible. Too many people doing things to neaten and clean the streets, shops, and various accommodations that the alley had to offer.

It was a close decision between Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, the only two magical places in the United Kingdom. Hogsmeade was a great village, full of posh stores that were neat, tidy, and well-kept, but full of gossiping people that would sell your story to the _Daily Prophet_ in a heartbeat. It was the hub for old crones and delirious teenagers thinking they were adults.

However, Diagon Alley was a better area that was bigger and allowed for a little bit more privacy. It didn’t offer much, considering the office of the _Daily Prophet_ was there, but it offered enough to have a personal chat without throwing up spells, wards, or enchantments.

Naturally, whenever Harry had a plan regarding something, it went poorly.

He glanced around and reached into his jumper, searching for the letter his mother had sent him. He treasured the letter, knowing his mother was on his side and understood.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope you’re having a pleasant day. I’ll attempt to keep this letter as short as possible as I know you’re highly paranoid that your housemates will pry into your mail and pull your deepest and darkest secrets from you. Goodness if they know your mother writes to you. I’m kidding, of course. You really should put some more faith in them. I know that not all Slytherins are like that, and, hopefully, so do you._

_I want to apologise for not writing as frequently as I promised. I do have some great news, though. It won’t excuse me for going quiet on you, especially at a time where you needed it, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate what happened._

_The last time we wrote to each other, you were telling me that you were working on another spell. I do assume that this one is much like your cage and isn’t an original spell, but one you have (or will) been tweaking. I can’t wait to hear about it and see what you’re working on. Your silver cage was a brilliant idea, one that no one had ever thought about. Now that you have perfected it, it will save a lot of lives in the long run._

_I am very, very proud of you, Harry._

_I am rather curious, actually. I’m curious about what your results for this year, seeing as you kept them concealed and hidden from everyone. If you weren’t as smart as you were, I’d assume you failed a class! Maybe you just don’t want people to see your thirteen ‘Outstandings’._

_If it’s alright with you, could we meet in the Leaky Cauldron? I heard a rumour, whether that’s true or not, that it was being renovated! How exciting. I know, Harry, why am I, the adult (and your mother), asking where we meet? Well, I know how you are._

_Love you,  
Lily._

Harry tucked the letter away after reading it over again and went back to watching the entrance from the Muggle street and the three fireplaces that people could use to Floo in. He had quickly accepted his mother’s request to meet in Diagon Alley, even though he had his concerns about meeting here. Even then, it was most likely going to be a casual discussion and not something the _Daily Prophet_ would push their nose into.

He watched as a familiar set of hair barged out of the fireplace as if it contained his worst fears and barrelled into an old lady that was just walking through. He hardly felt any pity for the lady, who had been knocked over, because she shouldn’t have been walking there. The markers on the floor indicated it was the area that people used to Floo in.

“Daniel!” said a familiar voice, one filled with exasperation. “I asked you to stay where you were when you went through! You promised you wouldn’t run off, and you did. You’ve lost your big boy privileges.”

Harry couldn’t help but snort at the whole ‘big boy privileges’ statement, which he assumed was something his mother came up with to make his brother behave a little more maturely, despite his young age. Of course, Daniel losing his big boy privileges, as humorous as it sounded, was an indication that he was no longer allowed to do things on his own.

He reached out and snatched his brother’s arm, pulling him into the seat. He ignored the shout from his brother and the betrayed expression, but it was worth it. He glanced at Tom, who appeared deathly pale at almost being run into while holding a tray full of hot tea.

“Slow down,” he said to his brother, pulling him onto the seat next to him, boxing him into the wall. He waved his mother over with a smile. “You know, you really should listen to our mother when she tells you to do something. You can’t be running off, not in Diagon Alley, especially because people might grab you from the street.”

“Harry,” said Lily, breathing out in relief. “He’s been so eager today, even more so when he realised we were coming to meet you.”

Harry allowed those few words to bounce around his head. He nodded as his mother spoke, but he was so focused on those words that couldn’t remember a single thing said. He knew the words were true. His mother never lied to him, whether intentional or not.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” he said after a period of silence. He saw his mother’s head lift, surprise etched onto her face. “A year ago, in the very same spot, you told me about Daniel.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know how I felt after hearing about him?” said Harry, frowning. “I was… angry? Frustrated? I actually have no idea what I felt. Perhaps both of them merged into one large mass of emotion.”

“I did assume you would be angry,” said Lily. “I hope you’re not beating yourself up over it.”

“I did for a while,” said Harry. “Poor little sickly Harry, who couldn’t speak, no matter how much he screamed and thrashed silently about it. Being unable to speak at a time where curiosity was at its peak was very tormenting, a torture I would never wish to inflict on another. Longbottom would be the perfect son… I thought I was, once again, being replaced.”

The tense conversation continued and was unable to move onto other things, which was a very bad thing. Both of them were stubborn and refused to allow a conversation go unfinished, so it caused some minor tension between them. However, a few truths were revealed, nothing too incriminating, but it aided in moving the conversation forward.

Lily gave her son a hard look and sighed. “As for James,” she said as softly as she could. “I think he will come around when he’s thought about it and calmed down. I can see that look you’re doing. Don’t doubt his love for you, even if it seems like the love is gone.”

“Is it, though?” said Harry, a bitter expression on his face. “It’s very hard to remember a time where he showed me _genuine_ love. He keeps me out of what he’s doing at work, he keeps me out of _everything_. We have to do Transfiguration the exact same way, something no one else does, and he didn’t respond to my letter about it. I had to beg Professor McGonagall for help else I’d have failed Transfiguration.”

“I can’t make excuses for him –”

“Then don’t.”

“– but I’m sure he has his reasons,” said Lily, glaring at her son for interrupting. “James, while being an adult, is still very much like his young adult personality. He loves to make jokes, awful ones that no one laughs at, laugh, and just mess around. He never was, and most likely never will be, a mature person. It’s just not who he is.”

“He never attempted to tell me any jokes,” said Harry. “He told them to everyone else, but never me.”

“Because we both know that you wouldn’t have understood or appreciated the jokes,” said Lily, smiling. “You’re a lot like me. You wouldn’t see the veiled humour in the jokes and you would quite simply just frown, trying to understand the concept of the joke, not the actual joke. I never really appreciated James’s sense of humour, and, according to his thought process, if I didn’t understand, you wouldn’t either. Let’s move onto another topic.”

“What’s the next topic?” said Harry, surprised by the rapid conversations witch. “I guess we do have a lot to catch up on.”

“Don’t think like that,” said Lily, frowning. “I know that the previous topic was wearing you thin, I could tell by how one-sided the conversation appeared. I would speak to you all day if I knew we could do it. I heard a rumour about a young boy who was hit by a curse.”

“You mean Theodore Nott?”

“A truly remarkable case,” said Lily. “As you know, I sometimes do some small work for St Mungo’s. Well, a boy about your age was moved into my care and I was rather shocked. I can see your mind, I will be discussing St Mungo’s next. Anyway, Mr Nott’s symptoms are rather weird and highly obscure.”

“Oh?”

“I assume you’re aware of the room in the Slytherin common room that has been dubbed as the _Duelling Pit_?” said Lily, smiling when her son gave a slight nod. “Well, when Poppy was unable to treat the boy’s injuries, he was shifted to St Mungo’s and a reasoning had to be given. The Duelling Pit was exposed, but not who the other duellist was.”

“What happened to Nott?” said Harry, leaning forwards. “I heard there was a duel, but I was doing some last minute studying with Draco in the common room.”

“The spell he was hit by isn’t known,” said Lily, frowning. “Which means that the spell had been handed down and not registered to the Ministry. I’m sure you know this as you would have received some form of form or letter about the spell you created… It’s mandatory for a spell creator to hand in the spell they created, whether it has good purposes or nefarious ones.”

“That’s… I have no words.”

“The creation of spells slowed massively as a whole because the rules and demands were too imposing,” said Lily. “You were paid a small sum and your spell was placed in books around the world, if it was useful enough.”

“What’s the punishment?” said Harry, genuinely curious. “If you know, that is.”

“If the spell is considered harmless,” said Lily, a frown appearing on her face as she shook her head. “ _If_ it’s harmless, a large fine of a hundred Galleons. If the spell could be used in combat, five years in Azkaban.”

“Is this just a thing our Ministry does?”

“No, this is a worldwide choice that has been in effect ever since the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was introduced,” said Lily. “All the lists are kept up to date and are publically available. James had been planning on taking you sometime this month, but decided that it wouldn’t be ideal with what happened.”

“I guess that’s why Voldemort was so interested in controlling the Ministry in the previous war,” said Harry, taping his chin. “Having control over the list would be a game changer. A list that constantly updates, adding rare and obscure spells from all across the world? I can imagine.”

“Voldemort will never be able to claim the Ministry,” said Lily. “Even with his power and followers, it has too many protections in place.”

“I never understood that,” said Harry, muttering. “Hogwarts is the same. I assumed Hogwarts was impenetrable because of the centuries of lingering magic that had been seeping into the walls, but the Ministry? It’s not as old and ancient and it isn’t on a ley line.”

“Ley lines are a myth,” said Lily, laughing at the appalled expression on her son’s face. “No evidence has been found.”

Harry stared ahead of him with a curious expression. He wasn’t sure if his mother was simply messing around or if she really believed that magic came from nowhere and just simply existed. He blinked and realised that she was serious.

“Magic is a churning river that flows beneath our feet,” he said, leaning forwards. “It flows and surges and it can’t be tamed. It’s wild and free. Magic is not controlled by some deity or a singular person, it’s all around us. It’s in the trees, the wind, the mountains. We all should know and embrace magic.”

“Many of us embrace magic,” said Lily. “We embrace it by practising it every day of our lives, always honing it. Nothing about any study has proven ley lines to exist.”

“Using it is different from embracing it,” said Harry. “When you think of your magic, what do you feel?”

“I just feel magic,” said Lily. “It feels magical, that’s all.”

Harry made a humming sound and nodded, knowing that he couldn’t argue against how someone else felt regarding magic because it was a magical feeling and it was correct. It was an insanely difficult feeling to explain.

“Did you know that magic is in our _souls_?” he said softly, taking a small sip of his tea. “It essentially makes us purely magical. It’s not like how Muggles portray magic in their fiction novels. There’s no core that we draw magic from – a core that is larger in some people. It’s silly, isn’t it? Witches and wizards are all equals, it just depends on the emotion and desire of the caster.”

“I do believe that.”

“And, believe it or not, Dementors are slowly killing magic,” said Harry, frowning. “Because magic is in the soul, so, when a Dementor sucks out a soul, they keep it for eternity and don’t allow for the soul to pass on, keeping it from being recycled and reused in the future.”

“You should petition to the Ministry with what you know,” said Lily, smiling at her son. “I’m sure they would love to hear what you have to say.”

Harry had simply shaken his head and said that it would be pointless as the Ministry would have already known. Surely he wasn’t the only person to figure such things out. Not only that, but was thirteen, almost fourteen. No one would take him seriously with whatever he said, no matter about his school records or his awards and merits he held.

He wasn’t sure if it was simply ignorance on the Ministry or if they were in a whole different game of Quidditch and that caused them to just ignore everything that was happening. It really was the blind trying to lead the blind while the people that could see were waving instead of speaking. No disrespect to Lucius, of course, but there was a reason why the man never ran for Minister for Magic, despite having all the qualifications and support for it.

‘ _The entire world is intent on ignoring issues_ ,’ said Tom. ‘ _Muggle or wizard, it matters not_.’

And Harry, who believed that Tom knew all, simply agreed. He would have agreed even if it came from some else because humans were exactly like that. People would rather just ignore all the issues unless it revolved around them, then it was a serious issue.

Despite how calm he felt, the words simply took him off-guard and he had to end the meeting with his mother and brother. Of course, he had learned a lot about what had been happening at home, and he was thankful, despite how quickly it seemed he wanted to just leave.

His mother was now working at St Mungo’s on a more permanent schedule, which was astonishing considering that she lacked the proper qualifications and expertise of a Healer. It both amazed and intrigued him that St Mungo’s was hiring, especially considering they had a fierce requirement that had never once been lowered or slighted in any manner. There was no war happening and there was no upcoming event that required Healers or Mediwizards to be present, so the recruitment confused him greatly.

Not that he was diminishing his mother’s achievement at all. Becoming a Healer was a feat most would never achieve. Madam Pomfrey had years of medical training, studying, and experience and she didn’t meet the criteria.

Not only that, but as he was parting ways with his mother, he learned that James was working on the case with Nott. It surprised him because he assumed it would simply be a lost cause, leaving the boy to suffer the effects for his lifetime. Then again, Nott was a child and the magical populace put children on a pedestal.

However, the spell he had cast on Nott could not be replicated, no matter what they did or attempted. James was smart and able to see things that most wouldn’t, but he wasn’t as smart as his mother and he wouldn’t be able to connect the dots. It would take a Muggle or a Muggle-born to even put a dent in what made Nott slip into a coma.

It was hardly his issue if Nott woke up, which he would eventually. He would be safe from consequence, though. It was pretty common knowledge that trying to pry information about a duel out of someone was considered to be a very bad thing. It was just dishonourable and there was always a vow of silence between the duellists, not that it often mattered as the loser would never talk about it and the winner had an audience, who would also remain silent.

Even then, it wasn’t like the Ministry would barge into Hogwarts and demand Veritaserum be used. Maybe they would if it was for the Minister for Magic’s son, but not the son of a known Death Eater.

Seeing as it was the first day of the summer holidays, he quite expected Diagon Alley to be deserted or at least somewhat empty. He did not expect to see groups and groups of foreign wizards that were pointing and laughing at signs and objects, nor did he expect the scattered Aurors that were trying to be discreet.

He pulled his heads out of the pocket on his jumper and glanced around, his left-hand clenching as he only just managed to sidestep a wizard that seemed to be preparing to enter some kind of Muggle triathlon.

“Excuse me, laddie!”

Harry glared at the man’s head and let out a frustrated sigh. He managed to avoid one person then be nearly thrown off his feet by another. Before he could even think of moving from the street, an Auror, who appeared to be rather attractive, approached him.

“May I help you?” he asked as politely as he could, his eyes watching as the woman’s hair turned from a slight red into a dull brown, which surprised him greatly. He took it as some kind of alert, whether she was searching for her partner using her hair changing or what. It was hard to place. “Are you there?”

“Sorry,” said the Auror, a slight smile appearing on her face as she looked up from her fingers. “I was just checking something before I spoke to you. I’m sure you’re aware, but there’s been a crime.”

“I had no idea,” said Harry. “With all these people around, I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

“This just wasn’t a petty crime,” said the Auror. “This was – well, I can’t say too much, but everyone that’s in the Alley is a suspect and no one can leave.”

“That’s lovely to know,” said Harry, staring at the woman with a confused expression. “I just got here, so I wasn’t going to be leaving for a few hours.”

“What my partner is getting at,” said a voice roughly, “is that we would like to issue a search. We believe that you are hiding something.”

“That’s nice,” said Harry, turning to look at the dark-skinned man. “I’ll have you know that I am a minor and, as such, means I am protected from all kinds of searches unless my parent or guardian is present. As for calling me suspicious, I just got here. Go speak with Tom, if you don’t believe me.”

In the end, he didn’t get to say or argue about it anymore before the dark-skinned man grabbed his hand, wrenched open his fist, forced something into it, and then shut his fist and smiled as a Portkey whirled the three of them into the Ministry. He was promptly silenced and easily led into what appeared to be a room that had been disguised as a holding cell.

He was roughly pushed into the room and was barely able to turn and face his captors before the door slammed shut and the sounds of footsteps echoed away.

“Aurors get you too?” said a man that was leaning against the wall in the next room over. “I was in Flourish and Blotts when some pretty witch came up to me, explaining that she was an Auror and there was some kind of _crime_ – took me by surprise, let me tell you. Anyway, I told her that I would be on my way as I wanted a new book and –” he smacked the wall as loudly as he could, shouting ‘bam’ in the process. “– her partner put a Portkey in my hand, and here I am.”

“Was there really a crime or are they simply abducting people off the street?”

“There was,” said the man, laughing. “Attempted assassination on the Minister for Magic. Aurors are going sparse.”

“Jesus,” said Harry. “Well, I doubt I’ll be in here for long –”

“You’re not leaving,” said the man. “They’ve already used Veritaserum on me.”

“And?”

“And I am still in here,” said the man. “My story matched, as well as anything else I have ever done, and they refuse to let me leave ‘cos I’m supposedly a reliability. They have hundreds of cells in here and they can easily double up on ‘em, too. I hope you haven’t got anything planned for the holidays, boy, because it’s not getting done.”


	2. Robin Banks

Chapter 2 – **Robin Banks**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

“I hate that you were right.”

The man turned towards the voice and sighed, gently pressing his forehead into the bars of their news cells. He had watched the young boy, waiting for the Polyjuice Potion to wear off and reveal a man, but it never happened. Ever since, he had paid close attention to the boy and even attempted to share his meagre food and drink to the boy.

“At least they didn’t ship us off to Azkaban,” he said, trying to crack a joke, but it had no humour in it at all. “If this torture isn’t enough of a deterrent, then you have an unbreakable will and a strong desire.”

“That’s what they want,” said Harry, shaking his head. “They want us to think we have it good while they’re bringing in masses of people, interrogating them, and then locking them up. I blame myself for expecting competence from the Ministry.”

“God, I used to love this place when I was young,” said the man. “My greatest ambition in life was to come here and _work_. I then saw how corrupt and obscure this place is – didn’t matter what you did in the building, you’d report to the Minister every. Single. Day and he’d make sure you were doing what you were meant to. Mental.”

“No fond memories?”

“None,” said the man. “Argh! I want to strangle the younger me for wasting years in this building. I got out of it only to be forced back in.”

“Do you think they’ll let us out soon?” said Harry. “I promised a friend I’d attempt to make him a cake…”

“With the constant streams of two and three people they keep bringing in?” said the man. “I doubt it. Just be thankful they’ve left you alone. You must have a few adults in the Ministry that are looking out for you.”

“How have we been near each other for days and I still don’t know your name?” said Harry. “It’s shocking, you know.”

“I couldn’t shake your hand,” said the man, laughing. “Can’t introduce myself if I can’t test your grip.”

Harry snorted and poke his smallish hand, which was covered in dirt, through the bars, wriggling it as if trying to shake hands. He laughed, smiled, and pulled his hand back before clenching his fist. He stared dead ahead for a moment, absorbing the silence.

“Harry,” he said simply, not even blinking, “Harry Potter.”

“Your name explains why you’ve been left alone,” said the man, carting a hand through his hair. “It should have been obvious to me, but your father is halting them from touching you. He knows you’re here, but he can’t actually speak to you, contact you, or get you released.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Ministry most likely went into an instant _code red_ the moment the Minister was under threat,” said the man. “That means that no one, under any circumstances, gets out. We’re all stuck here until a culprit gets caught and that could take weeks. Granted, despite the outward appearance of them being useless, they’re pretty quick to the Snitch.”

“What even is a code red?”

“You’re not saying it like it’s serious enough,” said the man. “It’s a _code red_.”

“Fine,” snapped Harry, glaring. “What’s a _code red_?”

“During a _code red_ , there is nothing in the world that the Ministry can’t touch,” said the man, trying to sound as ominous as he could. “They can simply barge into your home, wards be damned, riffle through your stuff, search every single crevice in your home – they know every secret room because all houses have their blueprints submitted at the Ministry. They even have the authority to check all vaults in Gringotts. Nothing is off-limits to them during a _code red_.”

“Even taking minors,” said Harry. “Mad, I say, this whole Ministry is _mad_.”

“They could torture you, if they wanted,” said the man. “Force Veritaserum down your throat… They would – will – pull every. Single. Secret from your head with force, if they desire. Got a crush on a girl? _Documented_. Homosexual? Documented and then used against you. Used one illegal spell curiously? _Documented_. Ever caught doing _it_? Best believe that’ll be recorded down as well, most likely with how long you lasted so they can scoff at you.”

“Has there ever been a _code red_ before?”

“Just one,” said the man. “That was years ago, though. A Muggle-born was chosen as Minister for Magic and a pureblood supremacist took it badly. Best Minister we ever had, really. He even began a new age for the United Kingdom.”

“Hm.”

“The next closest was a code orange,” said the man. “That’s where anyone, even citizens, can use any of the Unforgivable Curses on terrorists, who, at that point, were the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who himself.”

“I read about that,” said Harry, musing it. “Wasn’t there a hundred thousand Galleon reward for the capture or death of Voldemort?”

“There was,” said the man, snorting. “The Ministry hasn’t got that kind of money – I doubt anyone in the whole of the United Kingdom has that amount combined. I earned eighty Galleons a year when I worked here and I was in a respectable position. My rent was seventy a year.”

“What’s your name?” said Harry, cutting through the silence. “It’s unnerving me now.”

“Robin,” said Robin, glaring at the wall with an intense glaze that may have set it on fire if his gaze lingered for any longer. “I am Robin.”

“Just Robin?” said Harry, tilting his head. “Surely you have a surname.”

Robin appeared to be debating something that seemed rather severe in nature. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then repeated the action for a solid five minutes before he heard a huff and glared. It didn’t matt what he said, the boy simply waited, huffed, and then drummed on the bars waiting. Always waiting.

“Fine,” he barked out, glaring once again. “If I tell you, you must promise to not laugh –”

“Promise!”

“– snicker, giggle, or chuckle…” said Robin, listing more variations of laughter from his fingers. “I mean it.”

“I said I promise!” said Harry, rolling on the balls of his feet. “I don’t break my promises.”

“Sure,” said Robin, snorting. “I am Robin Banks – silence!”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, not at all sorry, “but you have an amazing name. It’s brilliant.”

“If it wasn’t so bloody expensive…”

“What’s expensive?” said Harry, confused. “Robbing a bank shouldn’t be expensive.”

Robin sighed. “Getting a name change,” he said, rubbing his head. “Six hundred and seventy Galleons for a name change. Six hundred!”

“Jesus.”

“Tell me about it,” said Robin. “Too much legal work for very little profit, I say. After a few days it dies down and I can enjoy _peace_. Hogwarts was the worst, though. I hated that place with everything I had. Bloody kids.”

“What House were you in?”

“Hufflepuff,” said Robin, sighing. “I can hear you laughing. Hufflepuffs may be the most kind, caring, and welcoming individuals, but they are still kids and kids are cruel.”

“Oh?”

“I suggest you look into it,” said Robin. “Your name screams Gryffindor, your critical eyes shouts Ravenclaw, and your posture and calmness subtly whisper Slytherin.”

“Last one,” said Harry. “It’s nothing like I expected – subterfuge, sabotage, plots, assassination attempts… It’s not of that. It’s a bunch of kids that get together and plot world domination but never get further than, and I quote, ‘ _I’m going to rule – No! I’m going to rule_!’ Madness, the lot of it.”

“Madness?”

“Madness,” said Harry, repeating it. “Too many think Slytherins are evil schemers, but they’re not. Most of us end up working a simple nine to five job or living from the wealth of their parents. The most cliché thing in the common room is a list that’s hidden by a dark green drape that hides a list of names.”

“What’s on the list?”

“A list of all students in the House,” said Harry, snorting. “It’s mainly for the first-years to help them fit in and feel welcome. It’s a list of power and prestige. I learnt that the list is a façade and serves no purpose.”

“So,” said Robin, “Slytherin is a misunderstood House…”

“That’s a tad too far,” said Harry. “Slytherin is still filled with those that manipulate other people, but that’s because ambition is a trait for Slytherin. Have you ever met a political figure that wasn’t manipulative? We don’t argue against the labels on our House ‘cos it works in our favour.”

“You don’t win people over with flowers,” said Robin, thinking. “I can see the appeal. It’s like how Hufflepuffs always try to be underestimated. The House system is fantastic, the best I have ever seen in a school, but it needs to be tweaked. It’s too competitive and segregating.”

The two continued the discussion with amusement, learning new things about each House. Harry informed Robin about his two friends in Hufflepuff and in turn, Robin told him about a few other secrets that only Hufflepuffs knew. Neither knew what spurred them to have a discussion about Hogwarts, but it really was an eye-opener.

They darted around subjects, but always seemed to fall back to Hogwarts. It was as people said: British witches and wizards were unable to talk about anything besides Hogwarts and Quidditch. Perhaps that was because Hogwarts was a second home to almost every single student that attended, even those that had a rough time.

“You would make a great teacher,” said Robin. “You have this thirst for knowledge that would put any Ravenclaw I know to shame. Have you shown interest?”

“You’re one to talk,” said Harry, laughing and deflecting the question. “You speak like a professor, really. You have this air of knowing about you. You should seek the position for a job there.”

“What position?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

“Of course,” said Robin, laughing. “ _Of course_ that job is open. The position is cursed.”

“A myth,” said Harry, “but a good one. I believe Dumbledore cursed it in hopes to keep anyone from taking up Voldemort’s shoes. If no one understands the Dark Arts, no one can become the next Dark Lord. Simple, really.”

Robin blinked. “That’s… something,” he said. “I’ve never heard that theory before. I did hear one that he would use Legilimency on students, but that’s false. I know he can sense when people are lying or telling the truth, but that’s just good character.”

“Dumbledore’s a Legilimens,” said Harry, scoffing, “but you’re right. He can’t use it on students. If he could, no prank would ever occur and or rules would ever be broken.”

“You speak with dislike.”

“I don’t like how he acts so caring,” said Harry. “He doesn’t care that one third of the school targets one House mercilessly. I know he doesn’t encourage it, but he allows it, which is worse than not stopping it. I guess, my Slytherin side just detests that he has so much power and influence and never uses it. Britain could be so much _more_ if he pushed for it.”

Robin snorted but allowed the conversation to drift away from Albus Dumbledore. In the few hours he had been speaking to the boy, he had learned so much about the boy. The worst thing is that he felt some kind of protectiveness about the boy. It was due to the depressive aura that the boy had. It was like the boy had the entirety of the world on his shoulders and was managing it with a smile, but it was still crushing the boy.

It hardly helped the young teen was so idealistic that it almost hurt that the boy may never achieve anything he set out to do because the world was going to crap. Almost everyone knew this. The string of murders, the attack on the Minister. It was a bad omen.

“What’re you doing?” Harry, blinking. “You keep closing your eyes and relaxing. It’s like you’re deep in thought.”

“I am trying to enter a meditative state,” said Robin. “A form of Occlumency.”

“The beginner form,” said Harry. “What’re you trying to achieve, though? Most people use it to hide, some use it to glance at memories, and others use it because they like the calmness that their own mind provides them.”

“Perhaps an inch of all three?”

Harry snorted. “You’re going to have to work on your form,” he said. “Even a beginner Legilimens would pick up on the fact that you’re retreating.”

“You mean like you?”

“I’m not a beginner,” said Harry, mocking a sniff. “I mastered both Legilimency and Occlumency.”

“Something to hide,” said Robin, “and a severe hatred for secrets – amazing reasons to learn both. I learned because I was always infatuated with the brain.”

“Fascinating.”

“Quite,” said Robin, laughing. “However, I am curious about how you didn’t know what I was doing. A master Legilimens would’ve been able to sense that I was trying to practice Occlumency.”

“Everything you know about both the arts is wrong,” said Harry. “A Legilimens doesn’t need a wand nor eye contact to see into the mind of someone. We mainly sense intent, as with all magic, and then we piece it together. If your greatest intent is to hide, we can sense that. I can, in every sense of the word, smell your emotions because your mind leaks them. It’s impossible to be emotionless. Memories or events with strong ties to that emotion allow me to see glimpses into that memory.”

“But you can also just dive into my mind…”

“That’s what a beginner Legilimens would do,” said Harry. “I could dive into your head, causing you immense pain as I ripped out your emotions attached to certain events, but it would cause us both pain. If you invite me in, however, there would be no pain.”

“Amazing,” said Robin. “And what’s the point of Occlumency?”

“Nothing,” said Harry. “It quite simply allows you to calm down and be more in control of your emotions. A Seer is a natural Occlumens, which means that no one can get anything from their mind as it’s protected by their magic. It’s all very complicated, but once you hit a certain mental state, it all becomes very clear.”

“Way to underestimate my accomplishments.”

“It’s still a great feat to become an Occlumens,” said Harry. “It has a massive amount of creativity required for it. Not many people can close their eyes and simply imagine a scenario to escape into. When I’m feeling defensive, I see a bright wall that reflects the night sky. When I’m scared, I’m in a forest. When I’m happy, I see friends and… family.”

“Astonishing,” said Robin. “I’ve never really spoken to people about it before. The mind is an amazing thing.”

Harry continued to explain snippets that he had learned from Tom, Atieno, and Salazar. Some pieces were outdated, but history was always relevant when it came to magic.

Magic that came from the mind always took longer to learn and was far more potent when compared to other branches. Not only that, but it tended to be more potent and allowed for it to be controlled, moulded, and morphed into what you desired. It was earlier to use, but also the hardest magic in existence.

“I’m curious,” said Robin, humming slightly. “I noticed earlier, but it never really clicked. Why haven’t you tried to escape yet?”

“I couldn’t escape if I wanted to,” said Harry. “They have my wand at the front desk and using nonverbal magic, not that I can, wouldn’t get you far.”

“Curious.”

“Are you related to Ollivander?”

“You have a wand in the front of your jumper,” said Robin. “Which isn’t _yours_ , I assume.”

Harry laughed and slipped his hand into the front pocket. “I don’t –” he paused when his finger brushed across a piece of wood. “The hell? This isn’t mine!”

“They didn’t even search you when you were abducted,” said Robin, pressing his forehead against the bars. “Perhaps because you offered your wand without resistance, they assumed you were clean… or, maybe, because your father already started a fuss and they didn’t want to annoy their boss. However, this _is_ curious.”

“This is _bad_.”

“Understatement,” said Robin. “You have a wand on you that came from nowhere. That could be the wand that was used to attempt an assassination. Being in possession of it would have severe consequences, especially if you can’t explain where it came from.”

“I think this is for the best, actually,” said Harry, shrugging. “If I can’t explain where the wand came from, I should be in the clear and proclaimed innocent.”

Robin shook his head and let out a soft sigh. How he despised the Ministry protocols.

“That’s not how they will see it,” he said. “You’re holding the murder weapon, not that there is one, and that’s all they will see. Any argument you have, they will counter, and then they will use you as a scapegoat to hide the whole ordeal and say that it’s dealt with and that wizarding Britain is, once again, safe.”

“So stupid…”

“I have an idea,” said Robin, blinking. “Well, I _may_ have an idea.”

“You do?” said Harry, twirling the brown wand between his fingers. “Before you get into it, do you know much about wandlore?”

“A know a little – not as much as Ollivander, but enough to tide me over.”

“This wand… it feels like it’s trying to fight me even touching it,” said Harry, looking down at the wand with a slight smile. “It seems like it’s trying to fight my mere touch, as if it doesn’t want me near it at all. The worst part is something about this wand accepts me, like it knows who I am and wants to connect with me.”

“It feels conflicting?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it still has a strong allegiance to its owner, but you must have some kind of bond or familiarity with said owner. It accepts you because its owner would accept you.”

“Now I’m just confused!”

Robin laughed. “Wands _are_ sentient,” he muttered. “Something to do with the part of the creature that resides inside of it. The wand must have a phoenix feather in it.”

Harry hummed and rolled the wand between his fingers, trying to piece the wand and who the owner could be. He honestly had no idea and even thinking about it was starting to hurt his head because all wands, assuming they were sentient, could change allegiances on a whim.

“What was your idea?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Obliviate me.”

“ _What_?”

“Obliviate me and alter my memories so that I found the wand somewhere on me, perhaps in my shoe, and then blame the whole thing on me.”

Harry blinked before muttering something under his breath. “Are you barmy? I mean, I know you are –”

“I’m trying to _protect_ you,” said Robin cutting in. “I’ve lived my life, you haven’t. You’ll be tossed into Azkaban.”

“And?” said Harry, glaring. “You’ll go instead. I’m a master Occlumens, the Dementors can’t touch my emotions or my memories. I dealt with them last year.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m an Occlumens, as well.”

Harry sighed and just shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. The obvious answer was to let the man near him take the fall. It just wasn’t what his heart said he should do.

“You’re a Slytherin,” said Robin. “You should be thrilled at someone else getting blamed for something.”

“We’re not evil,” said Harry. “We’re ambitious and cunning, not heartless and incapable of love. I will not throw you under the bus – that’s a Muggle phrase, in case you’re curious – and walk away without punishment. We have a sense of loyalty and pride – why do you think only a few Death Eaters sold out their allies?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure if you’re apologising for assuming I was evil, or that I’d throw you aside to get free, or because you expect me to still do this.”

“It’s the only thing I can think of that will get you free,” said Robin. “I’d never of asked this if I didn’t have this feeling that it was what I was meant to do… I’m a Hufflepuff, what more can you expect? I’d rather take the fall than see someone else pay the price.”

“I will still pay a price,” said Harry. “It just won’t be a visible price.”

“Yeah…”

“Even if I do cast the Forgetfulness Charm, the Ministry –”

“Will think it was cast on me to make me forget the ordeal,” said Robin, a tired tone of voice. “The room will shift when the next prisoner is added and we _should_ be facing each other. You will cast it then.”

Harry didn’t even blink when he felt the room shifting with magic as the cells were moved and he stood there, holding the wand in his hand as he faced Robin, who just looked plain tired. His strawberry-blond hair was knotted and looked very unkempt, which made very little sense as Robin’s hair was cut short.

He blinked and shuddered as he felt exhaustion leaking from the man. He knew it couldn’t be the case, the man just looked so tired that it was almost contagious. He looked down at the wand before looking back up at Robin, who had shifted onto his knees.

“You’re gonna do it?” said Robin, leaning forwards. “I – thank you.”

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me for ruining your life,” said Harry as he lifted the wand that seemed to call out to him, knowing it was about to be used. “Obliviate!”

A few seconds went by before Robin blinked and seemed to curl into himself as he waited for things to click. He jumped when a wand was rolled towards him and into his hands.

“I will get you out of Azkaban,” said Harry, glaring at a wall, unable to meet the eyes of Robin. “Even if I have to level that entire prison, I will do it. I promise that I will.”

Before Robin could mutter a word, whether it would be to counter what had been said or to mutter another ‘thank you’, he was dragged away by two guards and a fat woman in pink, screeching about magic being used, disrespectful prisoners, and wands that should be snapped.

Harry barely had time to compose himself before that young woman that abducted him appeared and stared at him with an intense gaze. He twisted around and glared at her, wanting to shout at her and demand to be released. He refused to speak, even when asked simple questions. He glared at the girl with hatred that Severus reserved solely for first-year students that destroyed cauldrons.

“You know,” said the young girl, her eyes darting between the people walking around. “It wouldn’t harm you to say something. What’s your name? Wait, that was rude… I’m Tonks!”

“I. Don’t. Care.”

“Well, we caught the culprit,” said Tonks, rubbing her hand, glaring at a wizard that walked by, blaming him for the stinging feeling. “That means that after we question you, you’ll be able to leave and return home.”

“Did you now?” asked Harry, grinding his teeth as he followed behind. “It only took you a week. What an amazing accomplishment for such a fine Auror force.”

“Thank you,” said Tonks, letting out a gentle chuckle. “We didn’t actually get the caster of the spell, but we got an accomplice and that’s as good as we’ll get, honestly. Maybe we’ll be able to connect some things and get something from him.”

“What’s the culprit getting?” said Harry, glaring. “Azkaban?”

“I pushed for the Kiss,” said Tonks. “Attacking the Minister for Magic? Well, they all pushed for five years in Azkaban… not nearly enough for scum – ouch!”

“What,” said Harry, blinking, “happened?”

“Something _zapped_ me.”

Harry didn’t even respond, he just flicked his hand at the woman and watched her skid into the wall, her head connecting painfully with a bronze railing that had carvings of Latin throughout it. He leant over her and studied her, knowing that she was unconscious. He stood, knowing the face of this ‘Tonks’, and glanced through the door that Robin was in.

He didn’t stand there long before he made his way towards the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. He nodded at the witch and reached out for his wand before retracting his hand and putting on a panicked expression.

“Some Auror fell over,” he shouted, seeing the said Auror stumbling around the corner. “She was escorting me and – and she just tripped and there was so much blood. _Please_ go help her.”

“Mr Potter –”

“I’m fine,” said Tonks, leaning on a wall. “I’m not sure what happened, but I’m fine. Potter, is it? Thank you for going to get help. Let’s go and finish your questioning.”

Harry turned from the receptionist with anger and walked towards the wobbling Auror. “Yes,” he said, looking at her with contempt, “let’s go.”

“I didn’t know you were a Potter!” said Tonks. “Oh my God!”

“My father is _very_ displeased,” said Harry, smirking. “His eldest son being kidnapped in Diagon Alley by Aurors that had no reasoning for doing as such. It was Tonks, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Tonks, swallowing.

“You best find a new job,” said Harry, glaring at her. “I will make sure you’re fired. If Ja – father won’t do it, Lucius will.”

* * *

“Is your name is Harry James Potter?”

“Yes.”

“Do you attend the school known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

“Yes.”

“What House are you in at school?”

“Slytherin.”

“What do you know about Veritaserum?”

“It’s forbidden to use on wizards under the age of seventeen because it can cause instability within the mind,” said Harry, his eyes unfocused. “The repercussions it causes are different in every witch or wizard, but it is prone to making them violent, unstable, and easy to provoke. This may or may not be a long-term effect – most of them don’t live beyond fifty.”

“I didn’t know that,” said the man, looking at his notepad. “How do you know so much about Veritaserum?”

“My godfather and myself pulled the potion apart and recreated it, learning about it,” said Harry. “It’s a horrid potion that causes more harm than it saves. It destroys lives. We pushed for a ‘dark’ classification, but it seemed to go nowhere.”

“Have you cast any dark magic?”

“Ignore that Potter!” barked a woman off to the side before quickly shouting, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“You have no _right_ ,” screeched the woman. “No right at all!”

“He’s a Slytherin!” said the man. “It’s on the basic question list! It must be asked.”

“My mother was a Slytherin,” said the woman, adjusting her coat. “You were put into the position because you were supposedly unbiased in your statements. God have mercy – get the _hell_ out!”

“Yes, ma’am!” said the man, scurrying from the room.

“What am I going to do with these blithering idiots?”

“Curse them,” said Harry, his tone flat.

“Sounds like a great idea, Mr Potter,” said the woman. “Do you know Robin Banks?”

“Yes.”

“Curious,” said the woman before smacking her forehead. “Did you meet him in the holding cells?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe him to be guilty?”

“No.”

The woman made a humming sound and placed the antidote to Veritaserum into the boy’s mouth. She leant back and rubbed her forehead.

“I am sorry, Mr Potter,” she said, watching the boy. “My niece talks about you – quite frequently, actually. She says that you’re a friend and that makes me so much more fearful to tell her that I met you and that you most likely despise my sheer existence.”

“I don’t.”

“If you need help at all with the potion and what it causes, please come to my office,” said the woman. “No doubt Susan will write to you when she finds out. She hates this place more than myself.”

Harry stared at the woman, her name surging into his mind as he finally realised who she was. He would write to Susan Bones and let her know that he spoke to her aunt and that, maybe, they could resume their tutoring the upcoming year. He gave a slow nod and walked out of the room, trying not to stumble as he did so.

He stepped out of the room and took a deep breath. He steadied himself and slowly began to walk down the corridors, following his previous path that he had taken to escape. The Ministry was a maze, in all sense, it was so easy to get lost and never get out. It wasn’t like anyone actively patrolled the place.

Wobbling in front of the receptionist’s desk, he used his left hand to steady himself and held out his right hand, waiting for his wand to be placed there. It took all of six seconds, but it felt like an eternity. With a polite nod, he shifted away from the desk and towards the middle of the atrium, where a few people were walking to and Disapparating.

“Look – it’s Harry!”

Harry, managing a pained smirk, glanced towards the group and blinked over each face, searching for one in particular. He found the face and watched as his younger brother was shifted into James’s waiting arms.

Lily crossed the atrium in three steps, her arms wrapping around her son and spinning him so that he was no longer facing the group, which she now did. With a nod towards them, she Disapparated with her son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that the chapter is a bit late. I ended up cutting most of the end and then rewrote it and changed a few things around.
> 
> Good news is that this chapter didn't take as long as the last three. Progress! :)


	3. Push Forwards

Chapter 3 – **Push Forwards**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Severus paced around the table that had been set up in the centre of his potions laboratory. He scowled when the solution to the issue didn’t pop into his head by the sixth round around the table. He was sure that he had an idea of what he could start with, but it wasn’t wise until Lily returned with an exact replica of what went on in the Ministry of Magic.

He was so certain that the effects of Veritaserum wouldn’t appear for a few weeks, perhaps even months. He didn’t expect his godson to take an aggressive stance the moment that he arrived and his mother left. Of course, he had easily stunned the boy, who seemed to forget he was a wizard, and placed him on the table and conjured some straps to tie him down.

He would never forget the pain he felt as he had to strap the bow down as if he was possessed and on the verge of killing people like in books or Muggle movies. To even think the boy was a threat to anyone was just heartbreaking, but he would prevail and he would cure Harry.

He shifted and tapped a nearby phial of a murky brown liquid that looked like sludge. He squinted at the potion, his eyes flickering between each little detail in the potion. With a sigh, he vanished the potion and slumped into a stool, ready to give the table a sweep and knock everything flying. He had a cure in his hand, but it would cause immense suffering for Harry and he couldn’t think of a way to remove that suffering.

He stood and ignored Harry’s glare, which is all the boy could do as he had been hit with a Silencing Charm the moment he started spewing hateful words. He honestly had no idea where Harry had gotten such an intense and in-depth list of swear words, but it was as such and he was certain Harry would soon outclass most adults with the words. He also had no idea that the boy possessed such a sharp tongue.

He stood when he heard a loud crack in a room upstairs. He quickly stood and made his way towards the stairs, trying not to wince when he looked at his godson, who stopped glaring and was simply staring directly ahead as if he saw nothing.

“Severus!”

“Lily,” said Severus, letting out a gentle sigh as he closed the door behind him. “What did you find out from the Ministry? I have some ideas about what was done, but I cannot start unless I know for certain.”

“The Ministry used Veritaserum on him before he left,” said Lily, shaking her head. “I can’t believe they would even dare to use an illegal potion on a minor. That’s not even the worst of it. They had already found someone who was involved and they still used it on him. They had the wand that cast the spell and the person who sued it in their hands and they were still intent on interrogating my son for some stupid reason.”

“Veritaserum?” said Severus, waiting for Lily to finish ranting. “At least that is not as bad as what I assumed.”

“ _What_?”

“Harry and I pulled apart Veritaserum, which is not as complicated as you are led to believe,” said Severus. “I can fix most of the issues that the antidote misses with considerable ease. Some things, however, will not be able to be changed as the potion damages the mind.”

“Some?”

“His personality traits will simply just increase,” said Severus. “I will explain it later with a graph and more in-depth data, which you should expect of me by now, but it will not change him too much, assuming I get to it instantly and we do not leave it too long. I am positive he is not dabbling in dark magic, so he should be fine.”

“What will change?” said Lily, leaning forwards. “I can’t imagine him being any different than he already is.”

“I am rather certain that he will be one of few that does not do a complete personality flip,” said Severus. “He appears to be more outspoken, quick to anger, and prone to giving the silent treatment – although, that is due to the fact that I had used the Silencing Charm on him…”

“Really, Severus?”

“He was speaking with some very hateful words,” said Severus. “If he was a Muggle, I am certain they would have slapped an ‘insane’ tattoo on his forehead. This whole situation has renewed my desire to have that potion banned. It is on par with some of the creations that the Dark Lord created.”

“Is it really?” said Lily, curious. “I always thought that Veritaserum was a good thing because it caught criminals.”

“It has both good and bad points,” said Severus. “The potion allows for the Ministry to catch criminals with ease and a lack of lying. The downside is that it removes all freedom and makes you a slave in your own mind as everything is pulled from it, even if nothing is asked. Insanity is a common side effect of the potion. That is the reason why it is not used as frequently as it could be to solve crimes. I feel sorry for anyone who is given Veritaserum and then tossed into Azkaban.”

“My poor baby,” said Lily, cradling her own arms. “To think they gave a thirteen-year-old boy such a dangerous potion! How dare they?”

“Because they lack sense,” said Severus. “The Ministry panics and then ignores their own protocols and instructions for what to do in an emergency. Collateral damage does not bother them as long as they are safe.”

“Fudge has no idea how to be Minister for Magic,” said Lily. “He’s so up and down. He’ll be the greatest Minster we’ve ever had for a few days and then he’ll just revert into a mess.”

Severus blinked and tugged at his sleeves, his eyes darting back to the door that led into the basement. He took a breath and straightened himself, mentally preparing for what he was going to say.

“I would invite you in to see him,” he said slowly, “but I am certain he would just say something hurtful.”

“Would he?”

“He would not mean it,” said Severus. “He would say whatever came to his mind, forgetting that he actually cares about people. I do not think he would ever forgive himself if he upset you in any shape or form, even when not in stable mind. I do believe that he is best left alone with minimal contact to detox and regather his thoughts. His change in personality, albeit the brief change, may be causing confusion in his mind.”

“Maybe a Muggle could help,” said Lily, noticing the hesitation in Severus’s words. “None of us have studied the brain like they’re doing. We’re content with what we know about the human body and mind…”

“We cannot,” said Severus. “As I said before, they would label him insane and we cannot state that it was because of a potion. Muggles excel in understanding things that we never will be able to. Our magic naturally protects our own brain.”

The two spoke about the brain and how Muggles were rapidly advancing and would soon, without a doubt, hit limits that would make witches and wizards look like cavemen. It couldn’t be helped, no matter the approach that was taken. Magic made them and it defended them against things that caused pain or discomfort. Quite simply put: prying open the mind of a witch or wizard would have explosive results.

The issue with that was that witches and wizards would be unable to advance like the Muggles were. They were a little behind, but that was more of a preference. If you looked at it with a careful gaze, you would see that, in a sense, the magical populace was above Muggles.

“I need you to do something,” said Severus, changing the conversation as quickly as it had started. “The relationship between Harry and James is at a breaking point. I am almost certain that you have noticed it now, as have most people that interact with them.”

“James loves Harry –”

“I never said that he did not love his son,” said Severus, swiftly interrupting. “I must admit, I am afraid with how detached Harry is with James. It never really crossed my mind how distant they really were. You remember my father?”

“I do.”

“You remember how, despite how much he tormented, neglected, and treated me like I never existed, I still called him my father,” said Severus, pausing. “Harry does not see James as his father. He calls him James, Lily. I never realised it until before when he was spewing his petty hatred. He _hates_ James, more than I ever did, which should say something because I am certain his entire existence was made to cause me grief.”

“Really?” said Lily, whispering. “They’ve never been close but I just assumed…”

“It would be futile to get anything from Harry,” said Severus. “It may be wise to get James here now, so that we can discuss a few things.”

* * *

James stood in the office of the Minster, his eyes clenched shut and his fingers digging into the table. His face was tinged red and his body quivered as he tried his hardest to not shout. He glared as the Minster continued the confused expression that he had on his face throughout the entire conversation.

“Look at me, James,” said Fudge, a determined expression on his face. “I have no idea of what you are talking about. I wish I did, but I do not. I never authorised any kind of kidnapping, nor did I use any potions on witches and wizards that are minors. I can understand your anger, but I cannot understand why it is directed at _me_.”

“But –”

“But nothing,” snapped Fudge, swiping at a few quills, knocking them aside. “I assume this is personal because I cannot imagine you barging into my office, a week after my attempted assassination, aggressively if it were not.”

“Yes, but –”

“ _Silence_!” snapped Fudge. “You will sit there, be quiet, and allow me to speak – it’s the least you can offer me for barging in and accusing me of kidnapping and poisoning your son. Your son is bright, intelligent, adaptable, and very charismatic. They are all things that I command in my employees. Do you really think I would do such a thing to veer your son away from a place I offered him a position?”

“Of course not.”

“Your son and, from what I can assume, his godfather submitted a form about Veritaserum awhile back,” said Fudge. “I was intrigued at first, but my undersecretary stated that the pros of the potion severely outweighed the cons. I believed her. How could a potion that provides the truth with no way to bypass is a bad thing? I now know how wrong I was. I did, however, place the form on hold, citing that it was an in-depth case – just the notes on the potion took weeks to pull apart and understand.”

“I don’t understand –”

“What I am getting towards, James, is that your son is very intelligent,” said Fudge. “When he speaks, he speaks as if he has years of experience. I learned quickly that he does not desire to be treated as if he were a child, he demands respect like an adult would.”

“I know that,” said James. “I know how he is.”

“Do you?” said Fudge, staring. “I don’t think you do, James, but we will not go into that. When your son speaks, I listen to what he has to say. He may spin some tales, talk himself up, but he knows what he’s talking about. When I say his name on that form, I just had to make a push for it. A few days later, when it gets around in the Ministry, an assassination attempt was made on my life. That is not a coincidence.”

“You think someone was making a push to keep Veritaserum in use?”

“No, it won’t be over something so simple,” said Fudge. “I must admit, when I was first made Minister for Magic, I allowed myself to be swept up in the fanfare, allowing ‘donations’ to sway my opinion on various topics. I was seen as incompetent, but there was no one better. It wasn’t until about six years ago that I really pulled it all together and people aren’t liking that. I assume they now want me gone so their own puppet can take over.”

“Assassination failed so now they’re trying to smear your reputation,” said James, mumbling. “That’s not good.”

Fudged hummed in agreement as he straightened up. He paused and opened the drawer in his desk, pulling out a few pieces of a parchment that was bundled together with a Muggle stapler. He remarked about how clever Muggles were and placed the parchment on the table.

“I would take the smear campaign over another assassination attempt,” he said, ignoring the pieces of parchment. “However, whoever is trying to smear my name is in the Ministry as someone who has access to mostly everywhere – I’m just not sure _where_.”

“It has to be someone that’s the head of a position,” said James, rubbing his forehead. “That or an assistant to someone. It can’t be someone that’s in a low-ranking position because, well, they can’t make it to certain rooms and locations.”

“I wish that was the worst of issues,” said Fudge, glancing down at the scattered pieces of parchment. “This is going to give me a yearlong headache, I think. Take a look at it – I need a second opinion on this and you’re the only person I can really trust at this point.”

James smiled and picked up the parchment, his eyes darting between each word as he read as quickly as he could. It was times like this where he wished he had Lily’s ability to hold and retain information at a quick glance. He had to read each paragraph twice just to understand what was going on.

“Beauxbatons can’t have agreed to this,” he said, putting the parchment down. “It was them who suffered the most and called the entire thing off, demanding that they are never invited to another one again.”

“Exactly,” said Fudge. “It would also require Durmstrang to provide a location for their school, something they put in effect after the catastrophe that was the last tournament. It goes Beauxbatons, then Hogwarts, then Durmstrang. We would be hosting it if it were to pass, which it _will_.”

“You’re not considering this?” said James, shocked. “We can’t do it, really, there’s too much risk for it.”

“I _have_ to, James,” said Fudge. “Beauxbatons suggested the idea and Durmstrang agreed almost instantly. Should Hogwarts deny the tournament that binds the schools together, it would cause conflict. Durmstrang and Hogwarts already have some kind of animosity between them, ever since Dumbledore introduced Defence Against the Dark Arts as a core subject.”

“Maybe there’s some precautions we could take with the tournament,” said James, tapping the desk. “Perhaps an age limit so that those in their younger years won’t join.”

“They were never selected anyway,” said Fudge, muttering under his breath. “It may help ease the parents, though. A good idea, but I am almost certain most of the students will hate the bearer of bad news.”

“That’s going to be you.”

Fudge paused in what he was going to say, watching as a little paper plane flew through the window and flew directly into James’s head, which amused him greatly. He watched as the man slowly opened it and then frowned.

“Lily needs me to come to Severus’s house,” said James, scanning the letter. “Something about something that makes no sense, but I’m at least capable at reading between the lines and I understand it’s about Harry.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I followed along?” said Fudge, blinking. “The less amount of time I sit here the better. I also want to see what was done to the young Potter, if that is alright with you.”

“I can’t see why it would be an issue,” said James, giving a slight grin and escorting the Minister for Magic towards the atrium, where they would Apparate to Severus’s house.

* * *

Lily considered this turn of event to be a very big issue for multiple reasons. She wanted James to spend time, alone, with his son, not have the Minister breathing down their necks and using the issues within their family as leverage. However, it was also a blessing because, as Severus had said, the Minister would see the damage that had been caused.

“I do wish you actually read the letter,” she said to her husband, who managed to look sheepish and somewhat apologetic. “However, this is good because I wanted to ask something of you, Minister.”

“If the question is why I made James Potter Head Auror, I’m afraid I have no logical answer,” said Fudge, laughing. “However, please call me Cornelius. I have to spend my entire day with formality.”

“I question that every day,” said Lily. “I know that a major event is coming up and I was curious if I could have James for that event.”

“Do you mean –?”

 Lily silenced her husband. “He would still be there, but he wouldn’t be handling any official duties,” she said, staring at the Minister, who begun rubbing his chin. “I understand you need your Head Auror at the event to provide morale for the other Aurors, but if he could just not have to deal with anything work-related.”

“I assume you are hinting at the upcoming Quidditch World Cup,” said Cornelius, his eyes darting between the titles of books behind the woman in question. “I did plan on having James with me in the Minister’s box, but I can always take Black, who has been putting in a good number of hours on the field. Black’s good for drawing attention away from myself, which is always nice.”

Lily scratched her head and sent Severus, who was lurking near the door, a look of confusion.

“Alright,” said Cornelius, straightening up. He turned to James and nodded. “I will allow you a brief holiday for the Quidditch World Cup. I expect you to spend the event with your son – err, your sons – and no one else. I will have Black in my box and I expect to see the two of you not speak at all.”

“I can do that.”

“You will do that!”

“Yes, Lily,” said James, rolling his eyes.

“Fantastic!” said Cornelius, clapping. “You need to spend more time with Harry, I think. He may be independent, from what I have gathered, but he is still a child and every child needs a father. I think the Quidditch World Cup will be a great time for some family bonding.”

“I do spend time with Harry,” said James. “As much as I can.”

“Lies!”

“Severus!”

“I apologise,” said Severus, bowing his head to hide his smile. “We all know that what James just said was a blatant lie. I spent more time with Harry when he was younger than anyone else, mainly due to his undying love for potions. I remember it fondly, actually. It was always, ‘ _I’ll show dad this, and I’ll show mum that_ ’. Eventually, when Narcissa got her claws into him, mum and dad became mother and father and, eventually, father became James.”

James appeared to look deathly pale as if he had just eaten a lemon or two without stopping or taking a break. He nibbled on his bottom lip and then hung his head, entirely defeated. He lifted his head after a few seconds before opening his mouth, closing it, and then dropping it back down again. With a long, suffering sigh, he lifted his head.

“Did I really neglect him?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d never neglect my son! Never!”

“James!” said Lily, gasping. “None of us would ever imply that you did. Sometimes, you say the most stupid nonsense known to man.”

“From what I have seen,” said Cornelius, breaking the awkward silence, “Harry is a remarkably complex boy with emotions and an attitude that makes him seem like he is not a child. However, this all crumbles into nothing when you realise that he is a child and still, whether subconsciously, still wishes for that. Of course, I have no children so I may incorrect.”

“It is painfully hard to describe Harry without sounding like a lunatic,” said Severus, turning towards James. “He detests being kept in the dark. To him, ignorance is a weakness and he does not desire to be weak. He is very passionate and will often be caught up in whatever he is currently doing. I suggest you start looking for clues in what he says and then question those clues. Speak to him as if you are both intellectual equals – do not, under any circumstance, treat or act as if he should not know something. You will lose him and he will give you the cold shoulder.”

“Jesus,” said James, sighing. “I never thought it would all be so complex. He really is something else, isn’t he?”

“It would be wise to contact Draco Malfoy,” said Severus. “He would know more about Harry than what we have provided. Perhaps, should the situation grim enough, his snake.”

The group continued to have a small chat until they slowly moved into the room where Harry was located. They walked behind the boy, not appearing in his vision, but shifted towards another part of the room.

“Does he need to be strapped down?” said Lily, tears forming in her eyes. “My poor baby.”

“I do not like it,” said Severus, “but I decided it was for the best when he decided to hurl a potion at my head. Thankfully, I, like any decent Potion master, charm all my phials unbreakable.”

“He tried to throw one at you?”

“That he did, Minister,” said Severus, walking around a table that contained batches of potion ingredients, phials, and a simmering cauldron. “From what I have learned, Veritaserum aims to attack the mind, which causes the witch or wizard to go mentally numb. That is why they appear so emotionless when under the potion. However, it seems to infiltrate the mind and pull the answers from the mind with little regard to the safety of the witch or wizard.”

“That flat voice they answer in?”

“It may be a sign of hidden pain,” said Severus, placing something in the cauldron, “or it could be the fact they no longer have emotions and speak flatly. The potion was designed for the adult mind, Minister. It can hinder development, cause a personality flip, destroy the mind, or even take over the mind of an adolescent. It all depends on the individual.”

“And how about Mr Potter?” said Cornelius, glancing towards the boy in question. “Do you have any idea what will change in his mind?”

Severus dropped something into the cauldron and stirred it twice before standing back up and looking at the Minister with some type of rage. He managed to curl the anger for a moment until he saw Lily’s face, in which he turned around to his cauldron. He had so many curses on his tongue for the Minister, but none would help.

“Harry will not go insane,” he said, blinking. “He may appear as if he is insane at the very moment, but I must admit that is because the Veritaserum is still in his system, despite the antidote being administered. He will need to either sweat it out or heed the call of nature, neither are a good cause at the moment because the former is simply cruel and the latter would not work as he would not do it.”

“What about personality changes?”

“I was getting to that,” said Severus, glaring at James. “I am simply theorising at the moment and I am unable to truly determine how his mind will change, but it will be nothing major. He has a matured mind for his age, but his mind is still that of a teenager. I assume he will become slightly more protective, slightly more studious, and somewhat quicker to anger.”

* * *

For Harry, every moment that he was awake was nothing short of pure torment. He could see the blurry outlines of the people that sometimes came into view. He was almost certain that he had entered someone’s body who desperately needed glasses. The other issue was that he could also hear them speak, but he couldn’t place the voices with a face that he knew. Some people spoke softly, some calmly, others spoke like they had a dictionary in front of their faces, and one person, in particular, spoke with such pure worry that it almost made him jerk in surprise.

It was a woman. It had to be a woman. Her voice was soft and melodic, almost piercing through the haze in his head. He tried to speak, but nothing coherent came out. When that failed, he tried to stand, but that only made something swat his forehead.

He continued to listen to the distorted voices, his mind focusing purely on the distressed sounding woman. He used her voice, like a beacon, to push forwards through the haze that seemed to settle like a heavy fog. It was remarkably difficult to navigate through the haze when things would randomly appear, such as a mountain or a tree. Sometimes the voice would change locations, so he would have to trek back the way he came to reach it.

No matter what, he had to follow that voice. He was certain the voice was leading him to freedom, to a clearer and crisp world, one where he would see and hear again.

“… A few drops…”

“… Why that…?”

“… Create a temporary…”

“… It will work…”

Harry tried to grasp onto the voices that seemed to fade in and out of existence. He knew they were discussing something important because that kind woman was involved and she only spoke when speaking to him, about him, or when something was regarding him. When she didn’t, he could not hear her.

He listened, stumbling as he ran through the fog, as the voices slowly vanished. One by one, they had stopped. The woman said something and then there was an eerie silence that he couldn’t comprehend. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, which he had tried to silence in his determination to follow the voices.

For the first time since the haze had descended upon him, he was unsure of what he should do to escape. He felt alone and vulnerable. Without the kind and loving woman that whispered directions to him, what was he meant to do? Had she given up on him? Surely not. He had proven himself loyal and obedient, following her directions without concern. She wouldn’t just abandon him like that.

Maybe one of the other voices had attacked her and weakened the woman. That could be a valid reason. Although, he was unsure how sane it sounded. The voices seemed like they were friends, not enemies.

He stood and squinted at the haze, willing it to go away. He had spent what seemed like years traversing this haze filled area. He knew where the trees, lakes, and mountains were. The voice seemed like it was last in the direction he was facing. He made sure to not turn or change direction.

‘A test,’ he thought, nodding. ‘The voice is testing me, making sure I know how to keep my head. Clever.’

He continued forwards, stepping around various obstacles that seemed to appear from nowhere. He walked dead ahead, not even turning to go around things. He simply climbed over them, his dedication outweighing the pain of scaling a small hill or a sharp fence.

Everything was going perfectly fine until he hit a proverbial wall that could not be scaled. He couldn’t even get a grip, despite the obvious areas that he could grip. His fingers would just slip before his feet were off the ground. He tried, and tried, and tried, and nothing worked. He tried using his feet, trying covering his hands with grass and leaves. Nothing worked.

And, for the first time he arrived here, he felt hopeless.

He turned around and slid down the wall, his hands shaking slightly as he knew that he had, once more, failed in tracking down the voice. No matter how many times he repeated positive things, whether whispering it aloud or humming it in his mind, the defeat outweighed any positive message he had tried to convey to himself. No promise of victory or success was enough to change that aura of despair that he felt.

He had failed. Not just himself, but the woman that spoke to him as if she cared. He had tried to cling to the voice but had been unable to do so and that made it all worse. She had put her trust and faith in him and he had failed her.

He blinked and lifted his head towards the sky, which may not even be a sky. He could be in a room or a cave and he would have no idea as he couldn’t see. That didn’t make any sense, though, because the voices hadn’t echoed like they would in a cave or a room. He was outside. He just had to be.

He took a deep, shuddering breath as he let out a sob, wishing that the haze and the fog would vanish and he could just go home.


	4. Satori

Chapter 4 – **Satori**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

“Would you quit pacing, Sirius?”

“How am I meant to stop when everything is getting messed up?” said Sirius, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “Moony lived through a war, survived constant attacks, and never allowed himself to be consumed by the werewolf, and you’re telling me that our best friend died while ‘teaching’?”

“It was an accident,” said James. “We – myself and the Aurors – already looked into the situation.”

“There was no situation, James,” said Sirius, halting instantly. “The fact is that your son killed our best friend – don’t you even dare speak! How do you accidentally murder someone, James?”

“Lily will flay you alive with the nastiest curses she knows if she ever hears you call our son a murderer,” said James, muttering slightly as he narrowed his eyes. “Look – I was hurt by the situation for a long, long time. How do you expect a thirteen-year-old boy, one who was under severe stress by a situation, to think clearly and piece it all together that a werewolf, a creature most people are taught to hate and fear, was their kind and loving professor?”

“You only look at it like that because he’s your son.”

“I look at it like that because I’m using my damn head,” snapped James. “The only people that figured out that Remus was a werewolf was Ron and Hermione. Neville already knew, but Harry _didn’t_. He had no idea and he just assumed it was a rogue werewolf that got in through the forest, which is a perfectly viable option for a werewolf, you know that.”

“So he decided to just impale the creature?”

“He tried to trap it in a silver cage,” said James. “The spell was something he was working on himself and hadn’t perfected it, but he was certain it would have worked. In all sense, it should have worked –”

“Then why didn’t it?”

“Because he was _afraid_!”

The two remained silent for a long period, each of them staring the other down as they waited for someone to break the silence. The sounds of annoyed breathing filled the room as the two men broke contact and huffed.

“You know that Remus would have loved that spell,” said James, breaking the silence with a slight smile. “It’s everything he ever wanted for Moony, isn’t it? To trap himself in some kind of cage where he couldn’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s just a shame that he never lived to see it,” said Sirius, his tone barely above a whisper. “I don’t blame your son at all, James. He’s thirteen, far too young to be committing murder. I just have no idea what to do. Remus was the calm one, the wise one. He always knew what to do and how we should do it.”

“He guided us through Peter’s betrayal,” said James, slumping into a chair. “If it wasn’t for Remus, I would have chased down Peter the instant I learnt of his betrayal, consequences be damned. I’m sure the both of us would have. Don’t get me wrong, Sirius, it still hurts me to think that he’s gone and that it was my son that caused that, but I’m sure that he’s somewhere near us and is watching over us, screaming that we shouldn’t be blaming Harry about the situation. In fact, I’m sure that he’s doing exactly that, most likely came up with an essay of the things he could have done instead of what he did.”

“I’m going to miss him,” said Sirius, whispering.

“So am I,” said James, shifting across the couch to comfort his friend. “I’ve had all this time to prepare for the loss. I also had Lily, Arthur, and Molly. I just realised that you’ve got no one to help you with it. Why do you insist living alone? We have plenty of rooms, Sirius, why don’t you come and spend a few days with us?”

“I can’t,” said Sirius. “I need to be alone for a while.”

“I understand.”

* * *

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes, his head giving a painful throb as he attempted to keep his eyes opened, despite the blurriness and strain it was putting on him. He eventually caved and closed them with a rough sounding sigh. Despite the pain and confusion he felt, he knew that voice and would be able to place it, even in a room full of people.

The tone of voice that had been directed at him left him more confused than the ailments that he was currently suffering, which was odd because it honestly felt like he had a hangover, which couldn’t be right. That tone of voice was from none other than Severus Snape, his loving and caring godfather. However, the same tone was normally only reserved for people who had done idiotic things, which he hardly ever did.

He decided, remarkably quickly considering his state, that he would remain quiet and allow for Severus to make his point. There was no point in arguing with Severus Snape. Sanity aside, it was a dim-witted thing to do due to how acerbic Severus could be. Even then, remaining silent when thinking causes great pains in his head was the only viable option he had.

It also helped that Severus was obviously annoyed, which would mean the man would not be able to sit quietly.

“Seeing as your brains till functions and you have wisely remained quiet,” said Severus, leaning forwards slightly, “I shall enlighten you on what has occurred during the nine days that you have been… incapacitated. You went into a self-induced coma, which _frightened_ your mother. It seems like your brain and magic worked in tandem to fight against the negative effects of Veritaserum. Are you, as of now, of sound mind?”

“Of course,” said Harry, forcing himself into a sitting position. His arms wobbled, and he felt a surge of pain, but he held firm. “I’m fine.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“I’m fine _and_ of sound mind.”

“Truly?” said Severus, surprised. “Are you mentally capable or are you just saying that so I will allow you to leave? Because, as I am certain you are aware, a few days ago you were _hissing_ and _spitting_ like you had been possessed by an evil spirit. I was mere seconds away from calling for an exorcism.”

“Amusing,” muttered Harry, attempting a glare.

“Hardly,” said Severus. “However, we have studied that vile potion for quite a few months, but never did we know what it would do to the mind. I need to know how you are feeling, whether it be mentally or psychically. All damage that you are feeling has been caused by that potion.”

“I feel exhausted,” said Harry, dropping back down. “My whole body feels numb. It’s like I’m not getting any stimulation to the joints – I don’t know how to explain it. My head hurts, my mouth is dry, and my eyes are itchy…”

“A hangover?” said Severus, making an annoyed sound. “However, that is my fault as a potion I gave you before you woke contained an intense amount of alcohol in it. The potion almost instantly dispelled the effects of the alcohol, but you would have minor symptoms of a hangover. If you vomit on my floor, I will flay you alive. Now, the first few things are normal, so we shall not panic about those.”

“Ugh.”

“I do realise you most likely feel awful,” said Severus, walking around the room, “but I have one question I want you to answer.”

“Alright –”

“Why, in the name of God, did you accept Veritaserum?” snapped Severus, his eyes narrowing. “You did not fight, nor contest the use of the potion, you simply accepted it with a smile and willingly ingested it! No arguments on the matter, no stalling, and no pointing out that you are a minor and exempt from taking anything you do not wish to consume! Where was your _intelligence_ during all of this? Your _self-preservation_? Your _cunning_?”

“I can’t fight against the Ministry,” muttered Harry, his eyes closing as he swallowed something disgusting. “No matter how I attempted to fight –”

“Which you did not even attempt to do,” interrupted Severus. “Continue.”

“The best, and only option, I had was to cooperate,” said Harry, glaring. “It’s like you say, in order to build up an immunity to a spell, you have to be hit by the spell.”

“You are using one of my many quotes,” said Severus, stalking around the room like a predator. “You failed to include the most important part of that quote. Recite the whole thing to me.”

“Behaving and accepting what they did, without a fight, would allow me to get into the Ministry without issue after school,” said Harry. “If I created a ruckus, they’d throw me out and shatter any dreams I had. I had no choice!”

“You had more choices than you think,” said Severus. “However, you took the Slytherin approach, which is incredibly stupid of you. You decided to suffer early for a chance at greater power. Why you follow something so incredibly narrow-minded is beyond me. Now I know you are in contact with a portrait of Salazar Slytherin because that is what he founded the Slytherin House on. Back then, magic came at a risk, which is what the quote originates from.”

Harry thought about it for a bit, the headache that he had suddenly intensified into a migraine. He could have sworn he saw his godfather smirk at his misfortune. He attempted to stutter out a reply, sounding oddly like Quirrell, before he felt a potion be pushed against his lips. A small part of him thought about keeping his lips closed, but before he could even debate the pros and cons of it, his jaw was forced downwards and his mouth opened.

“I do not believe you were being cooperative,” said Severus, placing the empty phial on a nearby bench. “Even more so, considering your actions whilst at the Ministry.”

“What?”

“If you were being cooperative, as you put it, you would not have blatantly attacked an Auror,” said Severus, his eyes narrowing at the look he received. “I know that you attacked a certain Auror called Nymphadora Tonks.”

“I –”

“Save your excuses for someone that will believe you,” said Severus. “You sent a wandless _and_ nonverbal Tripping Jinx at Auror Tonks. A remarkable accomplishment, all things considered, but you still attacked an Auror.”

“She tripped,” muttered Harry, his head held high. “And not because I used a spell.”

“I suppose she tripped because Auror Tonks is well-known for being clumsy,” said Severus, his smirk widening when Harry nodded. “There may be no solid proof that it was _you_ who cast the spell, Tonks is certain it was you. Why do you make me question your intelligence?”

“What do you mean?”

“James Potter is the Head Auror,” said Severus. “As much as it pains me to admit, he has completely re-evaluated the Auror department, turning it from a scattered mess into something that will make dark wizards cower all over the United Kingdom. Nymphadora Tonks is the best example I can use. To almost everyone, even her fellow Aurors, she is known for being clumsy, loud, and somewhat forgetful. That is correct, right?”

“Yes,” said Harry, frowning. “She’s well-known for that. Everyone remarks that they’re surprised she even made it into the Auror Department.”

“That information is a farce,” said Severus, leaning forwards. “All the information you know about the Aurors is _wrong_. Your father, with the help of – and this will amaze you – Ronald Weasley, created mock weaknesses for the entirety of the Auror Department. Somethings may be their weaknesses, but most of them have been reversed. Nymphadora Tonks is one of the agilest witches I have ever seen.”

“ _Weasley_?” said Harry, his eyes going wide. “How’d Weasley, of all people, think up something like that?”

“That is the piece of information that grabs your attention?” said Severus, sighing. “Now, what I am about to tell you does not leave this room, do you agree?”

“Of course.”

“As you already know, your father works closely with Albus, looking at the Auror Department and using that to branch into the Ministry with a tight-knit group of witches and wizards that detest the Dark Arts. However, Albus is almost certain the Dark Lord is back and has been since early last year.”

“ _What_?”

“There is no proof,” said Severus, his eyes narrowing. “If I hear even a whisper of this among the students, I will make you regret it. Now, as I was saying, Albus truly believes that the Dark Lord is active once again. It does make sense, no matter how you look at it. The Chamber of Secrets, Pettigrew, the recent string of missing witches and wizards, and the stirrings of his old followers. Your father is loyal to Albus, the Aurors are loyal to your father.”

“I see what you’re going for…”

“Indeed?” said Severus. “You really do possess a brain. Cutting the story short, Nymphadora Tonks is loyal to Albus. She is in the organization that Albus created to fight the Dark Lord the first time around. Your parents are in that organization.”

“I will not have my mother parading around in some group to fight Voldemort!”

“Do be quiet,” said Severus. “Lily is free to do as she pleases and _you_ will support her decisions or so help me I will skin you alive. She will not be on the battleground as she is a healer and has an infant son.”

“Good.”

“The Dark Lord will not reveal himself until there is an opportunity for dramatics,” said Severus. “He could also be rather weak magically. Being dead for thirteen years would take a toll on anyone.”

“I don’t doubt you, but how do you know he’s back?”

“I will show you,” said Severus, lifting the sleeve on his left arm to reveal an almost pitch-black Dark Mark. “The Dark Mark had been barely visible for twelve years and then, all of a sudden, my forearm feels like it had been set ablaze, and then the Dark Mark appeared like that. The Dark Lord _is_ alive, I can assure you of that.”

“I don’t understand why he hasn’t gone to a follower already.”

“That is most likely due to the fact that the Dark Lord trusts no one,” said Severus. “He does not trust them with good reason. I would wager only Bellatrix and her family, not the Black’s, are loyal to him. The rest, myself included, only remained with him due to fear, broken promises, or because we had to. At the slightest disadvantage, his followers will crumble or seek to overthrow him.”

“Jesus.”

“We shall move back to more important topics –”

“How is Voldemort being back not important?”

“Because, if you had been listening to anything I have been saying, he has been alive for quite some time,” said Severus, sighing. “Albus is aware of his return, but there is not much we can do while the Dark Lord is hiding under the Fidelius Charm. I have no doubt the Secret Keeper is locked inside of his dungeons and is only allowed out to pass on the secret to a select few. What you have done is more important than rumours.”

“Err, okay.”

“Eloquent, as always,” said Severus, sitting a tad straighter. “You are unbelievably lucky that the Ministry is putting more focus on Veritaserum and controlling the damage than looking at the report Auror Tonks submitted. You also seem to have the Minister in high favour, because he dismissed the report that was made against you, putting it down to ‘accidental magic’ at the fear of being made take Veritaserum, seeing as your name was on the research I provided.”

“I don’t see the issue,” said Harry, blinking. “It looks like it all worked out in the end. I’m fine, no permanent lingering effects, and nothing the Auror says will stick.”

“Everything would be _fine_ , as you put it, if we ignore the fact that Nymphadora Tonks is pushing, with everything she has, to find out anything about you,” said Severus. “Her personal investigation, when her record is so far pristine, by the Minister of Magic has her convinced that you have some deep connections and are actively manipulating them. She is determined to find them, squash them, and have you punished. She desires justice.”

“Justice?” repeated Harry, scoffing. “What justice? It’s hardly my fault that all the professors that we have had in the previous few years have all been _bad_. I mean, Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort, Lockhart was a fraud, and Lupin was a werewolf. I have very little hopes of actually having an education in Defence Against the Dark Arts when I graduate.”

“No one will buy that excuse,” said Severus. “I could see it working if you failed an exam or failed to do a spell right, but no one will believe it was due to your inferior teaching, especially when you are one of the top students in your year group. The only excuse I could see working is that it was accidental magic.”

“At thirteen?” muttered Harry. “That’s not possible.”

“For your feeble mind, most likely not,” said Severus. “Accidental magic is what it implies. It is magic that has been cast without the witch or wizard casting it.”

“It _could_ work.”

“It will not,” said Severus. “However, you are considerably fortunate that Nymphadora Tonks was in Hufflepuff and seems to display all their qualities. Unless she vanishes, you will have nowhere to escape her. She will follow you, no matter where you go and what you do. Her personality is saving you a good amount of grief, as Hufflepuffs tend to do. If she had been in Slytherin, well, you already know what would have happened.”

Harry made a humming sound, his eyes narrowing as he took in what his godfather was saying. A lot of it made sense, honestly. If Tonks had been in Slytherin, she would have been out for blood for being attacked. He was fortunate, yes, but Hufflepuffs, as he already knew, were easy to deter from their goals.

“Why doesn’t she?” he muttered a few moments after a period of silence.

“What are you dribbling about?”

“Why don’t we make her vanish?”

“Sometimes, and I mean this with as much honesty as I possess, I question your sanity,” said Severus, sighing. “I would not be surprised if you had been serious, as you would not be the first teenager to resort to dramatic killings for thoughts. However, if Nymphadora Tonks did vanish, there would be an investigation, and you would be the first to be questioned with Veritaserum, regardless of the effects.”

“Then what do we do?” said Harry, standing up. “I don’t want this Auror breathing down my neck.”

“You need to find an event and pray that something happens that draws the attention of the Aurors to it,” said Severus. “The Quidditch World Cup would be a great target, but the Dark Lord would never attack it. It would go against his own code to attack magical places.”

“I thought he attacked everything that stood in his way?”

“The victor writes history,” said Severus. “Regardless, he did have moments of insanity, but attacking key magical places would lose him more followers. That is the reason why he never held the Ministry, no matter what anyone says.”

“Well,” muttered Harry, “there goes my plan to ask Lucius to dress up as a Death Eater and attack it.”

“You foolish, inept, moronic child!” snapped Severus, his eyes narrowing and his posture becoming tense. “Not only would you be putting Lucius, a man you consider a second father, in danger, but the rest of his family, too. The Dark Lord may wish to keep the magical world intact, but that does not mean that he will not slaughter families to set an example. How could you even think to put a family, one that pretty much raised you, in danger just to throw suspicion off yourself? That is not self-preservation, Harry, that is pure cowardice.”

“I would never!”

“Yet you said it,” said Severus. “The fact you are even saying it makes me question my ability at raising you. I was hoping to teach you some more spells, but you have proven you are sinking. Take a walk, buy a tea at some Muggle store, and then come back when you have matured.”

* * *

Harry left the house with any fanfare or dramatics, knowing that what he said was worth the punishment that he had received. Of course, being told to take a walk and drink tea was hardly a punishment to most people, but to him it was. It showed that he was not thinking right, that he was acting far too childish, and that he had annoyed his godfather so much that they could not remain in the same room.

Not to mention they both had near matching personalities and would likely start attacking each other if they remained in a heated argument for an extended period. It’s why they duelled as often as they did.

He knew that he had crossed some sort of line when he had mentioned using Lucius as a way to draw attention off himself. He would never put his second family in a position where they could be injured or disgraced, no matter how minor or severe it may be. It was a stupid thing to say, and he realised that Severus may not take it as a joke like he had meant it to be.

However, he also knew that the friendship that had formed between his mother and Narcissa had started off as Narcissa trying to save some face for her family, which was admirable. Her husband had been a well-known Death Eater, not convicted of anything, but everyone knew. She, being the Black that she once was, attempted to seek out the same group of people her husband was suspected of torturing, and befriended them, using every ounce of charm, intelligence, and power that she held.

He would never hold that against her, though. She was just doing what she thought was best for her family, which was admirable. Her actions, on the contrary, had more serious consequences than what she had first thought. For a while, the Malfoy’s became outcasts in the pure-blood ‘elitist’ society, which was hardly an issue seeing as almost the entirety of that society was in Azkaban, dead, or disgraced.

It was a double-edged blade, really. If, and when, Voldemort came back, the Malfoy’s were going to be the first to endure his wrath.

Thoughts on the whole debacle aside, seeing as he already knew what he had said wrong, he slowly made his way towards the only bridge that connected Spinner’s End to Cokeworth. It amused him that the bridge was the most amazing thing that was in or around the industrial town. It was almost jarring to cross the bridge that was so beautiful into a town that was so hideous and unwelcoming.

The industrial section of Cokeworth, which consisted of only one street that wrapped around the area in a grid, something that an inexperienced city planner would do, was quite possibly the ugliest things most people saw. The buildings were made of nothing but brick, only having small slots in the walls for a few windows and a single door. The brick buildings connected to each other, allowing no room for a backyard for children. There we no parks, playgrounds, or even a single strip of grass in the area, which caused most families of workers to give the area a pass.

Despite all those flaws, the worst part of the area was the smug from the old mill that seemed to just linger and attempt to suffocate anyone who was caught outside for an extended period of time.

‘ _Soon enough, this town is what all towns will appear to resemble_ ,’ said Tom, sounding rather bitter about everything. ‘ _This area would have once been a paradise, filled with lush trees, long green grass that sways gently in the breeze, and sounds of nature… birds chirping away at each other. Now, it is nought but a causality of humans. Pure devastation on the planet._ ’

Harry would have laughed if he had the desire to upset Tom, something he disliked doing when he could help it. The voice seemed so bitter, angry, and sad that a place of nature was destroyed so easily by humans and their lifestyles.

Tom had been his companion for many years, which made him realise that he didn’t understand the voice and how it worked. Parts of Tom were remarkably him, and that was easy to tell, but then there were moments like this where he realised that Tom could very well be the essence of another person. The voice knew things that he didn’t, no matter how many times he attempted to explain it all away.

It was confusing, but he had pieced most of Tom’s personality together. He was the type of person that got excited over destruction. He would, in every sense, get on a table and shout as loudly as he could if a door or window broke. It was almost a certain thing that Tom would get excited when he witnessed the devastation caused by the buildings.

There was very little point in debating the semantics of it all now, seeing as Tom would go quiet for a few days while he brooded. He had learned that the voice could only speak, or say something, when he was being addressed. He was curious about what Tom thought about the buildings, and so, Tom could communicate.

He paused midway cross the bridge, standing under one of the many lights that attempted to engulf the structure in light, making sure every crevice and nail on the thing was lit up. It amused him more than it should have, seeing as Spinner’s End had four lampposts, two of which were near the bridge. If he remembered correctly, which he was sure that he did, the bridge contained so many lights to stop people getting mugged on the bridge, which had been rather common for a few years.

He glanced towards the sound of a dog barking, somewhat startled, as he realised it was almost right next to him.

“A stray?” he asked, looking at the dog with an amused expression as if it could understand. He bent his legs slightly, lowering his height. “Quite a nice looking dog for being a stray, though. Looks like you were groomed earlier today.”

The dog barked.

“Well, then,” said Harry, standing straight. “Shoo! Go and find your dumb owners before you make the stupid decision to chase a bird or something across the road. It would be a shame to walk back across this bridge in thirty minutes and see you dead.”

The dog barked twice and chased its tail.

“Dumb mutt,” said Harry before smiling at the dog and tapping his leg. “Come here, boy! D’you want a pat?”

The dog barked, remaining where it was.

Harry leant against the railed and discreetly pulled out his wand. He attempted to keep the dog busy while he repositioned his wand, his eyes locked onto the animal with slight amusement. He knew the dog noticed the wand, most likely assuming it was a stick.

“See? I have a stick! D’you wanna play fetch?” he said loudly, waving the ‘stick’ around. “Yeah, I bet you wanna play fetch, don’t you! Come on, mutt, come _here_!”

The dog yelped as it was lifted into the air and dragged towards the boy.

“That’s how I know you’re a stray,” said Harry, bobbing the dog up and down. “Any _trained_ dog would’ve instantly come, knowing that I, a human, wanted something. But you, doggy, are dumb and untrained.”

The dog growled and barked loudly.

Harry lifted his arm and looked at the watch that hung loosely. He sighed and moved the dog over the bridge, hovering it over the water for a moment before moving it to a post on the bridge. He smiled at the dog and put his wand away, slowly walking away from the dog.

“Oh,” he said, pausing. “You stay there like a good little dog and I’ll collect you when I walk back across here in an hour. Don’t even _think_ about trying to get off that ledge. You will slip and fall into the water.”

With that said, he started to walk away from the barking dog without a glance backwards.

* * *

“Your son is a psychopath!”

“God, Sirius, what have I told you?” snapped James, his eyes narrowing. “Stop calling my _son_ a psychopath!”

“He is, though!”

“He isn’t!”

“He _is_!”

James sighed and shook his head. Sometimes he debated why he even bothered with Sirius. He was certain the man, his best friend, was just as insane as the rest of his family. He was still livid that Sirius had followed his son in some kind of attempt to revenge Remus.

“Harry’s very smart,” he muttered, waiting for the moment of painful silence to pass. “He would have known that you were not a real dog. From what you told me, he connected it almost instantly. He tested you right from the start…”

“I don’t buy it.”

“Harry knows that area better than anyone,” said James. “He spent so much time there as a kid, weaving in and out of the buildings. Most of them don’t have anyone living in them… a dog being there makes no sense, as Spinner’s End is all buildings. I mean, where else would Severus live? He’s the biggest misanthrope in existence.”

“He called me a stray,” said Sirius. “So, he should have known that I was simply passing through.”

“And if your detailing of what happened is correct, he said that you were recently groomed,” said James. “He _knew_ you weren’t a stray.”

“Because I didn’t look scruffy?”

“Exactly!”

“I know that you have this… urge to prove to him that you’re a great father and that you changed, but ignoring obvious mental issues is _not_ helping anyone,” said Sirius, whispering. “Being in complete denial about his state of mind isn’t going to help him, nor will it make him see you in a new light. You’re just as bad as Lily.”

“We’re good parents!”

“Did I say you weren’t?” said Sirius. “I simply said that you and Lily refuse to treat him like he deserves. He hasn’t been a child for a long time, James. He does not look to you as a father, he looks to you as an acquaintance, someone he sees very little of. Harry looks to you like I looked at my own father.”

“It’s not that bad,” said James. “I made mistakes with him, not understand that his independence was an act –”

“Or that you spent every waking moment at work, planning work, or away from him because you wanted to make some Galleons,” hissed Sirius, cutting in. “I know you worked so much because you assumed he wanted to be rich like the Malfoy’s. If you don’t help him now, James, you’re going to lose him in the worst way.”

“What do you mean?”

“It will go one of three ways,” said Sirius, his eyes dull. “One, he will snap and murder someone around him, which will be either Neville or Ron. Two, he will end up in prison almost the moment he leaves Hogwarts. Three, he snaps, kills some Aurors, and is killed.”

“How _dare_ you!”

“I’m saying it like it is,” said Sirius, holding his hands up. “Look, James, my family has held its fair share of psychopaths – don’t hit me!”

“Then don’t call my son a… a... a psychopath!”

“I’m not going to apologise for it,” said Sirius, glaring. “If you do something about it now, you might be able to save your son. You may not be able to change him so he’s ever… normal – not that I think psychopaths aren’t normal – you may be able to make him be a valuable member of the community. Maybe get him into Buddhism. Get him on the road that leads to satori.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! It won't happen again... I hope.


	5. Surprise, Surprise

Chapter 5 – **Surprise, Surprise**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Harry leant back in his chair, immensely amused at the fact that James had just rendered the entirety of the Weasley family dead silent. However, the highlight was that Ronald, the moronic one of the family, was gaping like he his greatest dreams had just come true. This gave him satisfaction of the largest amounts because the idiot would never actually get to experience the thing that James was holding.

He sent the boy a smirk, mentally screaming to count the tickets that had been held out in excitement. He mouthed ‘one’, then ‘two’, then ‘three’, and then ‘four’. It took no less than two seconds because Ronald’s face went from surprise, shock, and amazement, to bitterness.

Ronald Weasley, and his stupid family, were not invited to the Quidditch World Cup. Oh, they could attend, but they would not be able to sit in the stadium that allowed them to see the players at all. In fact, depending on how quickly they made it down to the Ministry of Magic, they may be able to procure tickets at all. It would take a miracle if they could make it to the event at all. They would have to camp out in a shabby tent and listen to the cheers of others to determine who scored points.

“Maybe you could listen to the game on the Wizarding Wireless Network,” he said as gently as he could, ignoring that all heads turned to him. “I hear they’ll have exceptional coverage this year because Britain won’t be scheduled to hold the next world cup for another, well, hundred and fifty years.”

“A hundred and fifty?” said Ron, gasping like he was having a heart attack. “The World Cup happens every _four_ years!”

“The Muggles are slowly catching on,” said James, placing the tickets back onto the table. He gave a sad smile and shook his head. “Our Minister is afraid that, mainly due to our small size, the Muggles will notice massive groups of witches and wizards gathering in a set location. The area that we normally use for the World Cup has been purchased by some unknown Muggle millionaire, who wanted to set some kind of park there.”

“He can’t be Obliviated?”

“All the documents have already been processed,” said James, looking at Arthur. “Of course, the property won’t become his until after the World Cup, but future locations are undecided. Fudge, who has improved rapidly over the previous years, has already contacted the other leaders and they reached a conclusion the Quidditch teams were agreeable to.”

“The Quidditch World Cup is the last major event to happen in the United Kingdom for most of our lifespans,” said Harry, leaning forwards with a slight frown. “That’s assuming everything goes right, too. However, from what Lucius told me, the tickets were gone in as little as three hours.”

“ _Three_!” said Molly, surprised. “They sold that many tickets in three hours? I don’t believe it.”

“It was madness,” said James, shaking his head. “They would have been sold out in an hour if things weren’t being done slowly so that people had time to get down. It hardly helped that there wasn’t a rule on the fact that one person could buy as many tickets as they desired.”

“Bloody hell!”

“Ronald!”

“I think it was a smart move,” said Harry, ignoring the laughter of the table at Ron’s language. “I mean, Lucius has thirty percent of the total tickets. I’m sure the Malfoy Vault is looking rather bare at this point in time.”

“And how much did one ticket cost?”

“A single ticket for an adult was fifteen Galleons,” said James, his nose screwed up slightly. “Two tickets would be twenty-seven Galleons, three would be thirty-nine Galleons, four would be fifty Galleons. It got cheaper the more you purchased, due to the fact that it would benefit those with larger families.”

“Not only that but if you had the intention to mass purchase them and then sell them on your own, you were able to buy them rather cheap with no issue,” said Harry. “I think, in the end, Lucius talked them down to five Galleons per ticket instead of the usual ten.”

“And why was that even allowed?” said Molly. “That’s hardly fair.”

“The Ministry wanted the whole ordeal done,” said James. “Too many witches and wizards in one place gave everyone a headache. The Minister is planning to raffle a few off, give some away, and do other things to earn him some more praise with the public.”

“There!” said Ron, excited. “Maybe we can still go!”

“Sadly, you will be unable to enter due to Arthur having a position in the Ministry,” said Lily, speaking for the first time. “After the whole ordeal with last year, and how you won the contest, the Minister decided to protect himself against accusations of tampering.”

“And do you know what price Lucius is selling the tickets at?”

“Thirty Galleons per ticket,” said Harry, amused. “And that’s the flat cost, he will not lower it for each ticket sold or allow any form of benefits.”

“No one would pay that!”

“They already have, Weasley,” said Harry. “He’s sold half the tickets and it’s only been two days since the Ministry ran out. The closer the World Cup gets, the more people will buy them.”

“No matter how they handled it,” said Lily, frowning, “the Ministry caused itself more issues than it solved with the tactic it used to sell the tickets.”

“I don’t think Fudge expected them to sell so rapidly,” said James. “If you look at past attendance of the World Cup, it’s never been this attended by so many people, no matter how and when you look at it.”

“I think we already covered _why_ ,” said Harry. “To me, it hardly appears like the Ministry cares about who did and didn’t get tickets. The only thing they care about is their image and the amount of money they’re making. It wasn’t just the rich families in the United Kingdom that mass purchased tickets, it was wealthy families across the globe. Nothing will top this event, and the Ministry wanted to make sure they profited from it.”

“It will cost us two hundred and seventy Galleons to attend the World Cup,” said Percy, frowning. “That is, of course, assuming we buy from Malfoy.”

“There is no way we could afford that,” said Molly, sighing. “Even if a miracle happened, two hundred and seventy Galleons in less than a week is impossible.”

“Maybe we could buy you them –”

“Nonsense,” said Molly. “And even if you would, we wouldn’t accept them! You’re not much better off than us at the moment… your house almost drained your entire Vault.”

“I’m sorry, boys,” said Lily, her eyes displaying the sorrow she felt, “but I must agree with your mother. We really cannot afford it, at the moment. Maybe one or two, if we’re fortunate, but not much more than that.”

“It’s alright, Mrs Potter,” said Percy, smiling. “I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something that might get us there.”

“We could always use a bit of out shop fund, couldn’t we, Fred?” said George. “We could promote our products while at the game, which might give us some return…”

“We could,” said Fred, frowning. “But we’ve been saving for three years and the thought of spending it makes me nervous.”

“‘Shop fund’?” said Molly, repeating the words with her eyes wide. She twisted and pinned them both with a stare that promised that questions would be answered. “What’s this about a shop fund?”

“We’ve been saving up to buy our own shop,” said Fred, nodding at his twin brother. “We’ve been saving ever since our second year at Hogwarts.”

“How have you been saving?” said Ron. “None of you have jobs!”

Harry listened, amused, as Fred, at least he assumed it was Fred, began to tell their story about how they came across a boy, who seemed like he was struggling with a lesson. The boy was Lee Jordan, of course. The fact three students in their second year had started a small but successful business shocked everyone, himself included.

He continued to listen, his whole attention on the boy, as the tale of selling various pranks, ones that had been handmade, and even secret passages to older students who needed to cut seconds from their hectic schedules. The basic pranks sold for very little, honestly. Twelve Knuts for something minor, something that could be made in two seconds. However, some of the more complex stuff sold for sixty Sickles, which was rather crazy, especially considering how many people purchased the things. The biggest gain in the plan was the selling of secret passages.

Most of the people around the table were shocked to learn that they sold each passageway location for two Galleons. It didn’t seem like much, but when you learned that there were thousands of passageways, it added up to quite a lot.

“And that’s it?” said Molly, leaning forwards with concern etched onto her face. “I cannot see many people paying so much to save a few minutes each day.”

“Well,” said George, “when we earned around ten Galleons, we started to go to Professor Snape, who was rather annoyed at first, and see if we could purchase any old ingredients.”

“ _What_?”

“Professor Snape often discards old ingredients,” said Harry, glaring at Ron. He now knew everyone would focus on this instead of the fact that Fred and George Weasley had quite a bit of Galleons. “Anything over three days old cannot be used in potions, but it can be used in… other things. A herbologist will pay quite a bit for old potion ingredients. I know Professor Sprout collects the herbs that we use.”

“He shouldn’t be selling them,” said Arthur, his head tilted to the side. “I can’t see anyone, especially not the Ministry, agreeing to that.”

“Professor Snape does not keep the money he receives,” said Harry, trying not to roll his eyes. “It goes back into the school, which is allowed, at least according to a charter Salazar wrote before he was exiled. The charter states that any profit the school makes goes into costs for the school. Of course, this was written when the Ministry of Magic was around and all the professors worked for free. The Ministry eventually started paying the professors for teaching the subjects, noting a decline in the fact no one wanted to teach for free.”

“Well then,” said Molly, “tell us _everything_.”

* * *

“And you think I will hand over my _last_ nine tickets to your family?” said Lucius, glaring at the red-headed boy. “I find myself insulted at the sheer fact you think I would offer your family any kind of boon –”

“But we have the two hundred and seventy Galleons!”

“Do not interrupt me!” barked Lucius, his eyes narrowing and his posture stiffening always instantly. He clenched his cane, which concealed his wand, and waved it slightly as if threatening the boy. “Were you not taught any manners? No, of course not. For my own sanity, you wretched brat, do not dare to presume the price of _my_ tickets. The prices have gone up, which is to be expected as the Quidditch World Cup is only two days away. It is expected for the prices to rise.”

“How much are they now?” said Arthur, leaning forwards.

“Fifty Galleons each.”

“ _Fifty_!”

Harry couldn’t help but snort as he slowly pulled away from the mahogany doors. His eyes _almost_ sparkled in amusement as he pondered the situation. He knew that telling Lucius about the fact that the Weasley’s were hunting for tickets and actually had the correct amount would pay off in the end. He hardly felt bad for being the reason that the Weasley family wouldn’t make it to the World Cup. It served them right for being so moronic with their money.

He glanced to his left and stared at the ‘couple’, not that they would ever admit to being lovers or whatnot. He was actually pleasantly surprised by how they hid the fact they were dating. You’d simply think them friends if you looked at them, and, even if you dug deeper, you would find nothing that could out them as dating. Of course, those two had been strong-armed into coming because Lucius desired to make the Weasley’s sweat and plead for the tickets.

He twisted and narrowed his eyes at the taller of the two. He noticed that this particular man was more afraid than his partner and this confused him. He had no idea why the man would be afraid that he was going to get a few Galleons for acting like he needed tickets to an event he already had tickets for.

However, he realised that the man wasn’t afraid for himself, he was afraid for his partner, who seemed to just radiate fear. The posture and fear in the dull blue eyes were the obvious signs. He felt quite silly for not realising it sooner.

“Lucius won’t hurt you, y’know,” he said, unsure of why he was trying to make them feel better. “You’re essentially family if you look at it in some kind of twisted logic that these pure-bloods use.”

“We’re not related to him.”

“You are, though,” said Harry, his eyes going to the smaller one of the two. “You may be ‘disgraced’, and I use that lightly because I don’t understand how being gay makes you a disgrace, but you’re still a Black, even if you call yourself a White to mock them. You’re related to Narcissa through God knows what means, but you are family. Distant, of course, but still family.”

“But we _are_ a disgrace,” muttered the taller man, his head bowed low. “Just think about it for a moment and it will make sense. Do you really think that pure-bloods, witches and wizards that thrive off family, would accept if their child was homosexual and couldn’t reproduce? Most families have one child. If that child likes the same sex, how will they have their own child?”

“Well, they could adopt…”

“But that’s not continuing the line, is it?” said the man. “So, we are disgraced because we chose to not continue or branch out the family line. Even though, at the time, my partner had four brothers and three sisters. I, myself, had two brothers. It hardly matters.”

“And we can’t just marry a woman, have a kid, and then rush back to a male partner,” said the smaller partner. “One, it’s highly offensive to assume we can just go and… and reproduce with a female on command. It doesn’t work like that. Two, assuming we would then _cheat_ on the woman with another male, regardless of the marriage, is even more offensive than demanding we have, you know, kids…”

“I read,” said Harry, trying not to meet the eyes of the two men. He squinted and let out an annoyed sigh. “You don’t need to hesitate around the words, you won’t say something I’ve not read about. However, none of it makes sense. If people wanna date another man, how does that concern other people?”

“Listen, lad, I’m glad you’ve got your head on straight, but it’s impossible to change beliefs handed down from father to son; mother to daughter,” said the taller man. “Even then, I don’t think any of us really expect them to change. People will do what their parents tell them, even when they’re parents themselves. We have no right to really push for acceptance, we should only push for love, because everyone should feel love, no matter if it’s ‘forbidden’ or not.”

“But you should be pushing for acceptance,” said Harry, shaking his head. “How can your mother and father just throw you out because you dislike females? I can’t understand how _your_ relationship is the concern of anyone else but you and your partner.”

“It’s because it goes against what’s normal and expected,” said the shorter male. “It’s not just _our_ society that looks down on homosexuals, it’s the entire world and I doubt it will ever change. I have met plenty of Muggles that are more ravenous and hateful than any pure-blood you would ever meet.”

Harry didn’t put much more effort into the conversation, allowing it to slowly trickle off it mutters and dismissive tones. Of course, he wasn’t being rude, just accepting that they had over discussed it and that it was dragging on. He knew that the two men had a serious point, one that he would not be able to counter. It was obvious that arguing with two gay men was a terrible idea, seeing as they would know how society as a whole looked at them.

Still, he enjoyed debating and he was sure that he _could_ have learned something from pushing on, but he knew that Lucius was most likely almost finished rubbing his vast wealth, seeing as how he almost doubled it, into the faces of the Weasley’s.

He turned towards the two men, who seemed less afraid, but still rather on edge, and smiled. He needed names so he could hunt down information about them. He knew the shorter one was a White, but the taller one was an unknown entity. One was a pure-blood and the other was… the other was a Muggle-born, he was certain.

“I’m Harry Potter,” he said, trying his hardest to not come across as sound pompous, as they would expect from someone in Malfoy Manor. “I’d much prefer to be called Harry, though. School only just finished, so I’d rather not be called ‘Mr Potter’ for a month or two.”

“I guess we did forget to introduce ourselves,” said the taller man, his eyes showing his amusement. “I’m Patrick Anderson. It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

“I’m Cepheus White,” said Cepheus, his hands instantly going to his face. “I prefer Cep, really. It’s for my own sanity.”

“Honestly, with a name like Cepheus – I mean Cep – I can’t see why you’d be afraid to meet Lucius,” said Harry, somewhat smiling. “No one, bar the Black’s, would name their child something so awful.”

“I actually like the name,” said Cepheus, lifting his hands from his face. “It just doesn’t help that it’s so different from everyone else’s.”

“That’s what the Black’s aimed for,” said Harry, letting out a sigh as he peeked back into the room. “No matter how much you distance yourself from them, they will seek you out if they ever need your help.”

“That’s my family, I guess.”

Harry only just managed to move from the doors and into a nearby chair before they were opened, rather roughly, and someone exited the door. Of course, it would be Lucius, but no one would ever guess the man would be so rough with his house. This was a man that made you clean your shoes before you entered his luxurious manor.

“Things are not going as _planned_ ,” said Lucius, his left hand clenching his temple. “I have no idea how the Weasley’s were able to scavenge together four hundred and fifty Galleons in under a week, but they have and it makes me _livid_.”

“I assume Longbottom would have helped,” said Harry, tilting his head to the side. “Most people will donate the money back to him, amazed at what a kind and generous thing he did for a family that is struggling to simply survive.”

“You were going to charge them four hundred and fifty Galleons for tickets?” said Cepheus, shocked. “Can anyone actually afford that, even if the process weren’t so unbelievably high?”

“Of course not,” said Lucius. “ _That_ would be bad for my reputation. Although, I’m uncertain of which is worse, at this point.”

“Sell them the tickets for eleven Galleons each.”

“I cannot see any justified logic for cutting the _Weasley’s_ a bargain,” said Lucius. “They can easily afford to pay my first offer.”

“If the Weasley’s sought out aid from Longbottom, then you can be certain that Augusta was behind it all,” said Harry, stressing the woman’s name. “If you sell them below the average price, with a little quip that you understand their desire to see a desirable event, the publicity that Augusta would be getting goes to you. Also, the Weasley’s will have to hand back over two hundred Galleons. Who knows, you might be lucky and they could state that they paid full price and pocket the rest.”

“It seems far too risky,” said Lucius. “I can see the appeal in acting benevolent, but I have already done so. You – yes, you – what do _you_ think of this proposal?”

Cepheus looked like he had been caught doing something that he really shouldn’t have been. His face was white, his eyes wide, and his posture reverted to its previous stance of preparing to flee. His eyes darted between each face, his left foot lifting slightly.

“I think that”—his voice broke—“the idea has merit.”

“And you?” said Lucius, turning his piercing gaze to the man that was a head taller than him. Never let it be said that he wasn’t intimidating. “If you provide an adequate answer, I may still pay you, even if you did not fulfil the conditions I set.”

“It could go either way,” said Patrick, his eyes darting towards the door. “If you exploit them for more money, especially when they’re not wealthy, the general public might look down on you. I’m unsure, though. I’ve never been one for politics.”

“It appears as if I am outnumbered.”

“Not that being outnumbered, or voted, has ever phased you,” said Harry, snorting. “However, if you twist it the right way, you can win over some more of… ‘Dumbledore fans’.”

“This will require thought,” said Lucius, turning back towards Harry. “You, however, are required to be at home within twenty minutes. Seeing as you three made such great friends, I shall pass on your details.”

* * *

Sometimes, Harry seriously debated about whether he kicked dogs in his past life. There _had_ to be something that he did that required such intense suffering on his part. Obviously, he had done the crime, but not served any form of sentence until now.

Not only had his plan that he had just told Lucius about backfire splendidly, he also learned that Lucius had already done what he had suggested. That wouldn’t have been an issue if the whole Weasley family didn’t look at him like it was due to him they were able to attend the World Cup. Somehow, and it made no sense, they all assumed that it was because of him that Lucius had shown a small amount of kindness.

It was laughable! How _dare_ they?

Sadly, that wasn’t all the bad news that he had gathered from the impromptu family meeting. Because the entirety of the Weasley family, except for Ron, was under the impression that they should show some kindness and invite the Potter family over for dinner and to spend the night before the World Cup.

It was impossible to say no to the offer, especially considering that his mother had already said yes. He, personally, would have instantly denied the offer, knowing that the night before they went to the World Cup would be cramped and no one would get any sleep. Why chose to sleep on a sofa or on the floor when they could sleep in their own beds?

Also, he had to cancel the plans, the same ones that he had made not even twenty-four hours ago, with Draco because the stupid Weasley’s wanted to cook him food. Draco would be rather furious about this whole situation.

“Are you almost ready, Harry?”

“Pretty much,” said Harry, lifting a small bundle of clothes. He sent his mother a smiling, pushing down a sleeve with his chin. “We’ll only be there for one night, so I won’t need much more than one set of clothes.”

Lily instantly moved into her son’s room, her eyes going towards the bundle in said son’s arms. She smiled and mentally noted everything he had, just in case anything got left behind. She discreetly glanced at the things he had, making sure he had everything needed. Of course, she knew this was a pointless task as her son knew how to look after himself.

“You’re not going to take any robes with you?” she said, taking a step back and nudging open the door fully. She lifted her wand, muttered a spell, and sent the bundle of clothes that were in her son’s arms into a trunk she had set up in the living room. “Not packing any outerwear when you’re going to be spending hours outside is a pretty bold move.”

“Decided to pack light,” said Harry, watching the clothes float out of his bedroom. “Plus, robes are something you wear at school, not something you wear every day or to massive events like this.”

“I’m certain most people would disagree.”

* * *

In what felt like seconds since Harry had been debating the uses of robes in the current generation and climate of the world, he felt his mother’s soft grasp on his shoulder. He saw their house whirl, as if it had been sucked into a tornado, and then felt the same thing happen to him.

‘I hate any form of magical travel,’ he thought as his mind shut down, most likely protecting itself from the motions. ‘I swear, one day, I will invent a new way of travelling that isn’t idiotic.’

He chanted the thought, even as he felt both his feet land onto gravel, which instantly made a crushing sound as everyone moved around, not desiring on standing in the same place. He squinted up the hill, the same very hill that he had landed on all those years ago. Unlike last time, where he could almost see the odd house, he could only see various trees, ones that looked like they were about to bend and break.

‘That’s new.’

“Molly added the trees a while ago,” said Lily, her eyes darting from the trees to her son’s face. “While we’re the only people that enter their property this way, Muggles will now see this whole land as a dense forest. The trees help with that illusion.”

“Shouldn’t the wards stop that from happening?” said Harry, glancing around. If there was anything impressive about this house, it was the wards and enchantments that protected it. “I can see the feel of authenticity, but it shouldn’t be needed, especially considering the gravel path was left behind when it’s an instant give away that this is not a simple forest.”

“I have no idea,” said Lily. “I’m not really sure on what they’re planning with their property. I heard they were thinking of surrounding their property in more farms.”

“ _More_?”

“You seem surprised,” said Lily, laughing as she retrieved her youngest son from James. “They use the food they produce to live almost as cost-free as possible. They also sell it to other people for a decent price, which covers the cost of fertilizer and such.”

“Don’t forget that Charlie, who works with dragons, also helps them with some spare fertilizer that he gets from work.”

Harry, while somewhat still disgusted over the appearance of the Weasley’s house, was slightly shocked that the whole family seemed to work together to make everything work. He wondered, a slightly amused expression on his face, how the youngest male Weasley would contribute when he had no skills at all. He was useless at learning basic spells, useless at functioning as a decent human, and useless on being his own person.

It amused him greatly.

He listened, and somewhat agreed, as his mother made a soft suggestion that they really should begin walking up the path towards the Weasley’s house. It made some sense, mainly due to the fact that it was getting late and there were no lights going up the path, at least none that he could see. He also doubted, mainly to the fact that his mother had started earlier that no one used this path, that the Weasley’s had the foresight and talent to create lights that turned off and on when they were needed.

He really doubted anyone would come close to mimicking the genius that was Rowena Ravenclaw.

Granted, witches and wizards had gotten close, but none of it seemed to be as stable and quick as what Rowena had done. Sure, newer spells could do what the four Founders had done better, easier, and with fewer failures, the spells around Hogwarts still held up to that today.

He decided, rather quickly, that comparing modern day spells to those that were cast almost a millennia ago was pointless. Even if you did compare them, the spells that the Founders cast had been sublimely powered by _thousands_ of witches and wizards that attended Hogwarts over their lives. Perhaps, even if you looked into, the spells were simply something entirely different now.

The debate that he had in his own mind di pass the time, allowing for him, and his family, to reach a flat piece of land that led straight towards the front gate of the Burrow.

God, he never would dare admit that he was thankful for finally seeing that stupid, wobbly looking house, but he was. It was a sanctuary, of sorts. His feet were sore, mainly his ankles. It was a painful and a not so fun experience.

“I’m never hiking again,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. He watched as his mother laughed and then knocked. “I’m serious!”

Lily stopped knocking and smiled at her eldest son, who seemed to be puffed up like he was exhausted. Of course, he most likely was, seeing as he stormed up the gravel and didn’t walk like a normal person.

“If you had taken the small hill slowly – oh, Molly,” she said, surprised. She allowed the older woman to hug her and gesture into the house. “Sorry that we’re a bit late. We had some complicated issues with Daniel. He lost his favourite bear.”

Harry was the last person to enter the house, which was his goal all along. He slowly looked around, looking for any sign of Weasley that he could, knowing that there would be about nine of them. It was inevitable that he comes across one of the idiotic children, but he desired to delay it as much as possible.

Although, he realised that Longbottom _and_ Granger may also be here, which could ruin everything. Well, maybe not ruin, but it would make everything unbearable. He didn’t want to spend any more time than needed around Longbottom, and even less around Granger.

“Neville and Hermione will be coming tomorrow morning,” said Molly, her eyes displaying the excitement and joy that she felt. “They will be arriving at six in the morning, just in time for the sun to rise. That means that we _all_ should be awake, showered, and ready for the day.”

“ _Six_?”

Harry barely hid his disgusted facial expression. He hadn’t seen Ron enter the room, most likely because he came in after the tallest Weasley. He had no idea how the moron could always cry about being in the shadows of his brothers when he intentionally remained in them in every sense of the phrase.

God, how he wished that Ronald would just trip and fall down some stairs.

“We have been over this,” said Molly, he hands going to her hips. “The Portkeys that will be taking us _near_ the World Cup are on a tight schedule. They will take us to the World Cup at seven thirty, the reset by eight for the next group to take them.”

“So, why are we waking up an hour and thirty minutes earlier than needed?”

“Do you not desire to eat breakfast?” said Molly. “Do you not wish to prepare for the day with Neville and Hermione beforehand? If you are not out of bed, showered, and ready for the day by six thirty, you will remain here and de-gnome the garden!”

The entire went quiet while everyone waited for Ron to either continue the futile fight against his mother or relent and accept that he would need to wake up early to attend an event.

“Alright,” said Ron, ducking his head in defeat. “I’ll be up early, I guess.”

Harry frowned, hoping for some kind of explosive fight between the family members, but that would have been too easy and far too exciting for his dull life. Instead, he decided to just continue his looking around the house, trying to see what was different. So far, he saw two doors that he didn’t recognise and a part of the main room had been extended, most likely increase the overall size of the house dramatically.

He would look at those doors as soon as he got the chance.

“Alright, Harry,” said Lily, startling her son. “I’m going to go prepare Daniel’s bed, who will be joining me and your father in the sitting room through that door.”

“Alright,” said Harry, noting that the door he glanced at mere seconds ago led to another sitting room. Perhaps the Weasley’s were slowly trying to beat the number of sitting rooms that were present in Malfoy Manor. Six would be hard to beat, honestly. “Where am I going to sleep?”

Lily paused and glanced around, hoping that people would leave soon and she could break the news to her son. She was prepared for an argument, and she knew that Harry would react badly to what he was going to hear. She took a deep breath, held Daniel a tad tighter, and mentally prepared for a shouting match.

“You will be sleeping in Ron’s bedroom.”


	6. The Next Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot.
> 
> This chapter contains small mentions of what boys do behind closed doors. I kept it light, but, as someone who shared a dorm with 3 other boys, it's vastly more common and known that what I hinted at.

Chapter 6 – **The Next Day**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Harry, despite how tense everyone in the room seemed, simply gave Weasley, the one he would be sharing a bedroom with, a withering glare that could have instantly wilted an entire pasture without much hassle. He bit the inside of his lip, forcing himself to not bark out something degrading, which he strongly desired to. He knew that everyone was expecting _him_ to be the first to complain. He would prove to them that he could hold his tongue and not lash out.

He was going to prove everyone wrong. He would allow Weasley to be the one to lash out, moan that nothing was fair. He would, after Weasley had his dramatics, offer to just _accept_ it.

“Why can’t he sleep somewhere else?” barked Ron, his eyes still as wide as they were when the words had been said not even two minutes ago. “We’re – we’re not _friends_!”

‘Perfect,’ thought Harry, trying not to smile as both his mother and Mrs Weasley turned towards Ronald Weasley. ‘I am a genius!’

“You don’t need to be friends to share a room.”

Harry studied the person that had entered the room, somewhat confused on who it actually was. He looked like a Weasley, but he didn’t have the same figure, posture, or general atmosphere as the other Weasley children.

“But, Charlie –”

‘Oh no!’ thought Harry, finally realising who this Weasley was.

“I share a room with _twelve_ other people,” said Charlie, his face morphing into a grimace. “Half of us hate each other, the other half want the position that someone else has. The point I’m trying to make, Ron, is that sometimes you have to do something you don’t want to do.”

“But he’s in _Slytherin_!” said Ron, gaping. “I understand, Charlie, but _Slytherin_.”

“The House system that Hogwarts uses was never intended to wedge conflict and competition between the four Houses. The purpose of it was that children could spend their time with like-minded individuals that would help them adapt,” said Harry, repeating what Salazar told him a while ago. Of course, the reasoning behind the four Houses changed daily, depending on Salazar’s mood. “It’s all a show to make it seem like people are welcoming you so that people don’t feel afraid or left out.”

“Exactly,” said Charlie. “Once you leave Hogwarts, Ron, none of that matters anymore. You cannot afford to not speak to someone because they were in Slytherin or because they were a Hufflepuff and, as we know, they’re all duffers. It’s not true.”

“It’s not just _that_ …”

Harry found Weasley’s next words humorous. Of course, he knew it took the boy a lot of effort to finally blurt out that there was a rumour that he was Salazar Slytherin reincarnated, which amused him greatly. The similarities were close, almost startling so, but they were not _really_ related. He could not claim to be an heir of Salazar, despite being on the Slytherin family tree. It was more like being a guest of honour, in some sense.

“– even has a pet snake,” continued Ron, glancing towards said snake. “The theory adds up, y’know, and none of us are mad. It’s stupid, I know, but the pet snake –”

“Nagini isn’t a pet,” said Harry, twisting foot so it shifted across the ground, allowing for Nagini to slither between his legs. He lifted his arm, holding it out like someone begging for food, and allowed Nagini to climb up it. “She’s family.”

“Merlin!” said Charlie, changing his word midway to something less offensive. “I forgot that you had a snake as a pet – I mean companion. Is it a male or female? Nagini does sound slightly more feminine, but you never know.”

“Nagini’s female,” said Harry, cradling said snake protectively.

“She would be well into adulthood – can I?”

“No,” said Harry, instantly snapping the simple word like a toddler that just learned it.

“ _Harry_!”

“I understand,” said Charlie, lifting his hands. “All animals, whether cat or serpent, are unpredictable in how they act. Nagini may look content right now, but that would be because her ‘master’ is around and knows he would protect her. If I leant in and pushed inside her safety zone, she would strike. Anyway, if I can’t touch her, I assume she would be hinting at a potential mate?”

Harry realised that, while not an attempt to fish out whether he was a Parselmouth or not, it was an attempt to figure out something deeper. Perhaps, maybe, Weasley was fishing for more information about Nagini. He knew, as did everyone else, that it was an innocent question that meant no harm, but Harry was quite paranoid about people.

“She has not given any _outward_ signs of desiring a mate,” he said, glancing around. An idea popped into his head, allowing for the conversation to veer off him and onto someone else. “Perhaps, maybe, Longbottom can ask tomorrow, seeing as he’s an actual Parselmouth.”

He knew it was a perfect deflection from him onto Longbottom, seeing as the entirety of the house went white. It was like they had forgotten that the boy somehow stole the ability to speak to serpents.

“I forgot about that,” said Charlie, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I was quite busy when it happened, and paid it no mind…”

“Anyway,” said Harry, bored with the conversation. “I don’t know where your bedroom is, _Weasley_ , so if you could show me, I would appreciate it.”

“Is – will your snake be sleeping in my room, too?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “She does not bite.”

“Alright,” said Ron, twisting on the spot. “As long as it stays away from my bed.”

Harry followed behind Ronald, his eyes noticing the odd patterns that the boy stepped in. When he deviated from the pattern, intentionally, of course, and not because he was distracted, he heard the stairs creak loudly. He continued this up the entirety of the staircase, taking great pride in how loud the noise actually was. He ignored the scathing look he received from the boy in front of him and just smirked.

Regardless, it was nice to know that the stairs creaked and if he desired to leave the house, he would have to actually sneak. He found it very kind of Weasley to show him how to get around the house without making a sound.

If he could say thank you, he would. Alas, he could not lower himself to thank the youngest male Weasley.

“And this is my bedroom,” said Ron, pushing open a slightly chipped door that was directly on the staircase. He shuffled in and gestured inside the room. “It’s not much, but it’s a good and quiet place to sleep and unwind. It’s _mine_.”

“Err,” muttered Harry, peaking his head into the room. He wasn’t really sure on why Weasley was so sentimental or proud about his bedroom. “Congratulations?”

“I’m not like you, Potter,” snapped Ron, his arms folding over each other. “Both you _and_ Malfoy get whatever you ask for. A new broom? _Done_. A potions kit? _Done_. My entire family pushed for tickets to the World Cup, something you got instantly, something Malfoy’s father had in his pocket! I’m not rich like any of you –”

“We’re not rich,” said Harry, cutting in. “Don’t you understand? The Potter’s have passive income from Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and, in case you forgot, their minor shares in the Daily Prophet. However, both my parents work fulltime, well-paid jobs that barely keeps us in the positive. We may live in a massive estate, but we’re not rich.”

“Still!”

“There’s no ‘still’ about it, Weasley,” said Harry. “I can’t speak for Draco, who has generations of old money behind him, but calling the Potter’s rich is a _joke_.”

“You can’t say that when the bedroom you sleep in is like a palace!” barked Ron, his face going a bright red. “Your family is _rich_! Don’t you get it, Potter? You live life without needing to worry about your bedroom collapsing because a spell failed. If you can tell me, without hesitating or grimacing, that you could spend your life living how my family does, I will admit defeat.”

Harry thought about it for a moment, offering Weasley _some_ consideration, knowing his next words would demand the same thought. It was something that was expected. If you showed consideration, the other person should do the same and actually think about what you have said. It hardly mattered, though. Weasley should have been well aware of how he felt about what was said.

“Your attempt at getting sympathy from me won’t work,” he said, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. He glared at the boy for a second before dropping his arms. “We’ve been over this topic before, Weasley. This _topic_ is why I dislike you. Why we’ll never be friends. Why I’d never like you. Why I barely tolerate you.”

“You have such a way with winning people over, don’t you?” said Ron. “However, you didn’t answer what I asked.”

“Don’t you understand, Weasley?” said Harry. “I wouldn’t allow myself to fall into the same situation that you’ve found yourself in. If I, or my family, needed money so badly that we were unable to survive without money, I would hunt down a job that I could do during my breaks from school. Whether it’s the Christmas break, which is where most businesses hunt for young people to do small things for a few Sickles a day.”

“You make it seem like it’s so easy.”

“I never said that finding a job would be easy,” said Harry, trying not to laugh at how Weasley had spoken. “Finding a job for us is relatively easier than what it is for Muggles. We’re not limited by travel times or distance, tasks that require intense thought, or even needing to change clothes. However, as most magical places require you to be proficient at magic, they will look at your school record, which is allowed. They look at your overall grades for the years you have attended, your average points gained and lost, and how many detentions you have received.”

“Why do they need those?”

“To check if you’re a decent wizard,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “It’s common knowledge – wait, did your Head of House not inform you any of this? There should’ve been some sort of notice put in the common room that people could look at. I know for a fact Slytherin and Hufflepuff got it, and Ernie confirmed that Ravenclaw had theirs, too.”

“Notice?” said Ron, shocked. “What notice?”

“Right,” muttered Harry, somewhat confused. “I guess that explains the attitude and general demeanour of Gryffindors. Wasting time on jokes –”

“Mr Potter was a prankster in his time at Hogwarts!”

“– when they should be focusing on bettering themselves,” said Harry, ignoring Ron. “And that’s because my father, despite messing around during his time at Hogwarts, was insanely intelligent and held top marks, alongside Sirius Black and my mother. No one else was even close to being near him in raw talent.”

“But –”

“Most people that play pranks are actually insanely intelligent,” muttered Harry, pushing by Weasley. “Your twin brothers are decently smart, too. It takes some kind of – what the absolute hell?”

“ _What_?”

“Your bedroom is the most garish thing I have _ever_ seen, Weasley,” said Harry, looking around. “It’s so… orange.”

“I like the Chudley Cannons.”

“Honestly, there is a line between liking a Quidditch team and obsessing over a Quidditch team,” said Harry, studying the room with slight disgust. “I think you crossed that line twice over.”

“And?” said Ron, dropping onto his own bed. “It’s my bedroom and I can decorate it as I please. I bet your bedroom is Slytherin colours.”

“I forgot how my room was painted,” said Harry, tilting his head. “But it would never be done like _this_. Whatever, though. It’s your bedroom, as you said. I’m just… thankful you have a second bed in here.”

“Of course,” said Ron. “Couldn’t let anyone that slept over to sleep on the floor.”

Harry, while thankful, would never admit as much to the boy. He simply glanced around, noting anything of value, then made his way towards the obviously spare bed, which appeared to have a knitted quilt rather than the familiar pattern of the Chudley Cannons. He silently directed Nagini to climb onto a trunk that had been somehow shifted up here without him noticing and pulled out his wand, ignoring Weasley, and cast a mild Warming Charm on the trunk, allowing for Nagini to be warm during the night.

“Are you barmy?” said Ron, his eyes going comically wide. “You can’t cast magic here, we’re not at Hogwarts! You’ll trigger the Trace and then we’ll all be in trouble.”

“Are you being serious?” asked Harry. “Sometimes, and I mean this as politely as possible, I question whether you were dropped on your head as a baby.”

“Are you saying my mum was a bad mum?”

Harry sighed and wondered whether he, once more, kicked puppies in his past life. It was a reoccurring thought, one that he would always go back to when something like _this_ happened. Someone, somewhere must hate him enough to make him enduring such stupidity.

“No, Weasley,” he said, sighing, “I was using a rather common Muggle expression that is said to people that are either slow, mentally, or stupid. I was asking whether you had brain damage or not. Anyway, the Trace does not apply here because you’re at home.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your parents are listed as permanent residents, which means that any spell that’s cast around you, as long as you’re in the house or outside, will be voided because it _could_ have been cast by your parents. The Trace temporarily deactivates when someone over the age of seventeen is around you. It’s a rather impressive feat of magic, and no one knows how to disable it, but it has flaws.”

“Bloody hell!” said Ron, still looking towards the window, waiting for the owl to come. “Are you being serious? If you are, why have I never heard about this?”

‘Because you don’t have a stuck-up vampire hanging around you,’ thought Harry, slightly amused. He coughed and turned to face Weasley. ‘I wonder if I should tell him…’

“Well?”

“No idea,” said Harry, deciding instantly. “I figured it out myself last year.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Harry really couldn’t care less if Weasley believed him about the Trace. There were a few people who knew that it could be bypassed, but they all hoarded the secret for themselves and refused to tell anyone. In fact, he didn’t care if Weasley ratted him out and told the Ministry about it. He was certain that the Ministry would wave it off, believing that their fabled system was flawless and had nothing that could bypass, hinder, or even destroy it. While the latter was true, the two former statements were false.

“Weasley,” he said, looking towards said boy.

“What, Potter?”

Harry stared, knowing that his pointed look had obviously failed. He knew that Weasley had seen it, as the boy had frowned. He truly wondered whether Weasley was simply being a massive pain or if he was actually this stupid. He knew that this type of pranking, if it could even be called that, was a thin line.

“You can go one night,” he said simply, his face unmoving as he spoke the words. “One. Night.”

“One night without what?” said Ron, climbing into his bed without hesitation. He shifted and pulled his trousers off, same with his t-shirt.

“I don’t want to explain this,” muttered Harry. “You _have_ to be messing around. You simply can’t be this... oblivious about what I’m talking about.”

“Then don’t,” said Ron, dropping down onto his pillow. “Don’t complicate things, _Potter_. You do it so much I’m amazed that anyone can tolerate you.”

“People tolerate me just _fine_ ,” snapped Harry. “Fine – you want it how you Gryffindors do things? Brash? Thoughtless? I can do that!”

“Finally!” barked Ron, a little louder than usual.  “Go on, then!”

“The fact I even have to…” muttered Harry, trailing off in a whisper. “You share a dorm with”—he lifted his right hand into a position that Weasley could see it and began taping it, as if counting—“three other people? How have you not heard _anything_?”

“What happened to just saying it?” said Ron, sitting up. “You can’t even do that!”

“That’s because I have tact!” said Harry, his voice rising. “I’ll sink to your level, then! I don’t want you to _wank_ while I’m sleeping in here!”

“W-what?”

“I said I don’t want you to wank!” shouted Harry, his eyes narrowing. “You know what wanking is, right? Jerking off, touching yourself, tossing yourself off –”

“Yes, bloody hell, Potter!” shouted Ron, his face a bright red. “I know what… _that_ is!”

“Good,” snapped Harry, “because I was getting worried that you had no idea. However, none of that while I sleep in the same room as you. I don’t want to hear it!”

“H-how could you even say something like that?”

* * *

Harry awoke, quite early in the morning, and sighed dramatically. He reached down, bunching up his t-shirt, and lifted his bottom from the uncomfortable mattress, rubbing gently at his lower back. He knew that, without a single doubt, his entire back would be stiff and sore throughout the entire day, which is what he didn’t exactly want due to the World Cup. With a soft huff, he pulled his legs up and kicked off the knitted quilt, his eyes aching as he glanced at the bright, garish walls of Weasley’s bedroom.

He covered his eyes with his forearm, trying to reduce the strain of brightness the walls had on them. Even though he poked fun at the colour, he hated to admit that the Chudley Cannons had chosen a quite nice orange, it was just garish when overused.

He twisted around, as gently as he could so that he didn’t hurt his back, when he heard some rustling, which was soon followed by a similar sound. He frowned and a sneer appeared on his face as he dropped back down, rolling on his back as he slid his wand from under his pillow and aimed it at the other bed.

“What did I _say_?” he hissed, his eyes narrowing as he thought of a spell to use. “ _Piscinoris_!”

The navy blue spell rippled across the room like water, slamming into the top of Weasley’s head, who swore rather loudly. The spell, while rudimentary in what it did, was genius for people who were misbehaving. The spell was made of butchered Latin, which amused him, but it had worked well.

“What was _that_?” said Ron, rubbing his face. “And why did you do _that_?”

“That, Weasley, was a spell that essentially conjures and then throws a fish at you,” said Harry, sniffing. “It’s a very old and redundant spell, seeing as the fish that appears vanishes after it makes contact with the skin. However, I did it because you. Broke. Our. Agreement!”

“What agreement?” muttered Ron, his head tilted as if trying to listen as people walked down the stairs. “I never made any agreement to not scratch my leg.”

Harry glared.

“I – I wasn’t doing _that_!” blurted out Ron. “I know you have an ego the size of a Quidditch pitch, but _no_!”

“Sure –”

The door swung open without a sound, leaving the silhouette of Mrs Weasley hovering in the doorway. She placed her hands on her hips and studied the two boys in the room for a moment before her eyes darted around the room, looking for anything that she may use to incriminate her son further.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” she barked, already knowing that both of them were awake. “What have I said about using such _crude_ language in my house? I put up with your _minor_ cases of swearing, but I will never allow such profanity! Get up, get dressed, and get in the kitchen and help your father with breakfast!”

Harry watched as Weasley choked on his words, whether in anger or just had no idea what to say, with amusement. Eventually, after Mrs Weasley bid him a polite good morning and left, Weasley dropped back down and screamed into his pillow. He didn’t speak, knowing his silence would be louder and more cutting than anything he could think up.

“Don’t say anything!” barked Ron, flying out of bed in remarkable speed. “This is all _your_ fault.”

Harry studied Weasley, watching intently as the boy shuffled through a nearby wardrobe. He knew that Weasley was trying to bait for a response, knowing just what to say to trigger one. Of course, he was far more intelligent than Weasley and knew when and when to not speak. Although, when he noticed Weasley had more clothes than needed for a weeklong holiday, he decided that, maybe, Weasley was distracted.

“You have three pairs of socks,” he said, shifting towards his trunk, muttering. “Of course, while it is somewhat cold, it is not cold enough to require the need of three socks.”

“Yeah,” muttered Ron, “I kinda understood what you meant when you said I had three pairs. You didn’t need to repeat it a second time.”

“Did you, now?”

“ _Yes_!”

“Fascinating,” muttered Harry, pulling a shirt over his head. He picked up the trousers he wore last night and slipped them on without any fanfare. “I’ll see you at breakfast, I assume. Don’t dawdle, don’t wanna get in any more trouble.”

“Didn’t you wear those yesterday?” said Ron, standing straight. “And aren’t you going to shower? For someone who is so _uppity_ about everything, you sure do have poor hygiene.”

“Are you stupid?” said Harry, angrily pushing his foot into his shoe. He kicked the floor, trying to make it fit on right. “Scratch that, you are. I’m not gonna shower, then put on clean clothes, and then go outside and walk through a forest while Nagini hunts. God, some people…”

* * *

Harry followed behind Nagini, ignoring her frequent mutterings about him being a large oaf that simply spooked all the prey. He stepped over a particularly nasty looking plant, mentally debating whether this adventure was worth it or not. On one hand, he did not trust this area and desired to look after Nagini, no matter how amazing of a hunter she tended to be. However, on the other hand, he really desired to see Weasley getting verbally torn to shreds by Mrs Weasley, who had this loving persona that made it twenty times worse when you made her angry.

“ **I have hunted my fill, Youngling**.”

It took Harry all of a second to direct Nagini back the way they came, knowing that he may just catch the tail end of some yelling. It was great blackmail material, blackmail material that he would like to have in his pocket. There was still a decent chance that Weasley hadn’t even made it downstairs yet, seeing as the boy tended to put everything off.

He followed the weak imitation of a path and laughed when he finally spotted the Burrow and neighbouring fields. He would never have guessed that he’d be excited to see the towering menace of a structure, but he was.

“ **I hate this place** ,” hissed Nagini, her head nudging against Harry’s face.

“ **As do I, Nagini** ,” hissed Harry, shaking his head as he followed the path and walked through the garden, making sure to not step on any gnomes. He listened for yelling, and heard none, so he was certain that he had either missed it or it had yet to start. “Ah – I hear something!”

“– using such _language_!” said Mrs Weasley, her hands pressed onto her hips. “I swear I raised you better than that, Ronald! What if Ginny heard you say that? I am sure she _did_! Look at her, she’s all shaken up!”

“Ginny says worse things than me!”

Harry snuck into the room, taking a piece of toast from the plate that had been put aside for him as he walked out the door, and placed a piece of bacon onto it. He smiled at his mother and sat in a nearby chair, which just so happened to be in hearing range if the argument between mother and son ever dropped to a lower voice level. He took a small bite of his toast, picking at the bacon with nimble fingers. He severed the fat from it with ease and smirked at Weasley.

“It’s Potter’s fault!” barked Ron, his eyes narrowing. “Look – he’s smirking at me ‘cos he planned this!”

“I did no such thing,” said Harry, holding his hand over his heart. “I was getting up and then, all of a sudden, you swore!”

“He cast a spell on me!” said Ron. “He cast _magic_!”

“What are you even gaining from lying about that, Weasley?” said Harry, taking another small bite of his toast. “After all the progress we made last night – I assumed that _you_ had turned over a new leaf and our differences were behind us. I was _wrong_ , I assume. I thought that maybe, with time, we could’ve been friends… Why’re you so intent on using _me_ to escape _your_ issues?”

“B-but –”

“Even then,” said Harry, ignoring Weasley, “I can’t really cast magic outside of school due to the Trace. Unless you think I am capable of bypassing the Trace, which is infallible according to almost every single Ministry official.”

“You –”

“Granted, I could have somehow hidden the fact I got a warning from the Ministry, but that would mean casting some seriously powerful spells that hid the sheer noise those letters made. No, no. No, I don’t think a letter came about underage magic, so what _is_ your end goal here, Weasley?”

“And which one of us are you talking to?” said one of the Weasley twins.

“Err,” said Harry, looking around, “Ronald.”

“Well then!”

“And none of us heard a Ministry owl,” said Mrs Weasley, turning back towards her son. “Did you think that you could lie to me _and_ accuse a guest of ours? I should make you stay home while we all go to the World Cup! I am shocked…”

Lily shifted, moving around the room so that she didn’t shift into the firing range of Molly, knowing that her son had done something to ignite this little argument. She loved her son, believed every word that he said, but she knew that he liked to push limits. She knew, as much as James, that Harry was really soft at heart, he just liked to prod people and get under their skin. She sat down, blocking the rest of the room and smiled.

“I _know_ you cast a spell,” she whispered, winking when her son’s eyebrows lifted.

“Hmm?”

“I questioned it when I noticed you casting a spell for Daniel,” said Lily. “I assumed that, due to the fact you managed to cast it wandlessly, that the Trace wouldn’t pick it up.”

“Nope,” said Harry, a childlike grin appearing on his face. “However, no witch or wizard, Dumbledore included, can cast magic wandlessly – at least not in the United Kingdom. You can cast a spell while your wand is holstered, but you’re still casting with your wand.”

“Fascinating,” said Lily. “I’ll pick your brain about that later. However, the Trace does not seem to apply to you unless…”

“Unless you happen to be in the presence of an adult or living where one resides,” said Harry, whispering. “The Trace will not activate if an adult is – or should be – near you. It essentially goes to sleep when someone who does not have the Trace enters the bubble.”

“That’s…” said Lily, trailing off. “That’s actually amazing. How did you figure that out?”

“I hardly doubt that I’m the first person to realise that the Trace has flaws,” muttered Harry, his cheeks going a slight pink. “The Statute of Secrecy was introduced in, what, the seventeen hundreds? That’s about three hundred years since the Trace was introduced for witches and wizards to find an exploit for it.”

“Still, it’s quite an achievement,” said Lily. “I certainly didn’t realise it could be bypassed.”

“I just pieced a few minor details together, realised a few things, and then, after a while, realised that I can cast magic without anyone be aware of it if I remain near an adult or in the general area of a wizarding location or house. The Trace doesn’t know exactly where you are, so it’s hard to pinpoint exactly _who_ cast the spell.”

“That doesn’t diminish how impressed I currently am,” said Lily, leaning forwards slightly. “Although, as much as I hate to, I must ask that you put a stop to this. Molly, while a loving person, is highly strict and does not say things she doesn’t mean. If this keeps up, Ronald will not be joining his family to the World Cup, no matter I say or do.”

“If Weasley just shut up and let his mother talk…”

“He’s far too hot-headed and argumentative,” said Lily, shaking her head, “Your father was like that, too. Thankfully, he matured from a little snot-nosed brat in his second or third year and started to actually take everything seriously. Back on topic, you don’t want to be the boy who stopped someone from attending the last World Cup in the United Kingdom for their lifespan. That’s a stigma that won’t go away.”

“It wouldn’t be my fault.”

“Look around,” said Lily, shifting her head out of the way.

Harry glanced around, curious about what he would do, already spotting quite a few glares, as if everyone already realised it was his fault. Maybe, in some sense, the entire Weasley family realised that only he could help as he was a guest and it seemed that Mrs Weasley had a bit of a soft spot for him.

“Alright,” he whispered to his mother as he stood. He tried to ignore the warm smile he received in return. “I’ll go and talk to her.”

“Thank you.”

Harry nodded and made a slow move towards the Weasley’s, who had seemingly arranged a circular pattern of their seating arrangements. He twisted back to look at his mother, who still had those kind eyes that she usually had, and took a deep breath. He really didn’t desire to throw himself in the way for Weasley, and he didn’t plan on doing that. There could be something that he could use to get Weasley pout of trouble and keep himself in Mrs Weasley’s good graces.

He glared at Ron, he began to speak, basically telling him to shut his mouth. He allowed Weasley to stumble around the fact that he had started to say ‘what’, which Mrs Weasley had heard and clipped him over the ear for. That, at least, was worth the pain of what he was going to do.

“What are you – oh, Harry, dear!”

“Hello, Mrs Weasley,” said Harry, his hands folded behind his back. He gently, and as politely as he could, denied her request for him to call her ‘Molly’. It would take him years to call an adult, at least of the female kind, by their given names. “I really do hate to intrude on your… punishment, but I must admit that Weas – Ronald is not to blame, fully, at least, for this situation. I decided to remain quiet, mainly because I thought it would be funny and get him back for his earlier antics, I do not desire for him to miss the World Cup, no matter if he continues to put his foot in his mouth.

“Anyway, Ronald had a spider crawling near him and he had woken me up with his frantic panic. Of course, while I am a morning person, I dislike hearing constant whimpering and decided to take action into my own hands. This action, though, was the wrong action and the pillow that I threw at Ronald seemed to have knocked the spider onto him – I was never a decent Chaser, you see. Unbeatable Seeker, not so much Chaser… Anyway, Ronald had a good enough reason for cursing like he did and I will take full responsibility for the whole debacle.”

Mrs Weasley stopped whatever she was going to say, glancing towards the fireplace, which had given a slight ‘ding’ sound, as if something inside was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two cliffhangers in a row... I'm the worst.
> 
> I decided to cut this chapter, though. It took me longer than expected.


	7. A Trek Through the Forest

Chapter 7 – **A Trek Through the Forest**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Almost everyone screamed, whether it was done in shock or outrage was anyone’s guess, as green flames erupted from the fireplace and spewed across the room, engulfing it in bright, almost distracting green light. The flames slowly retreated, and, within a second, a body was flung from the fireplace, sliding across the floor at speeds that were only attainable on the newest broom, and collided into the legs of none other than Ginny Weasley.

Screams started again, believing it to be an attack, but were drowned out by a familiar voice, who was apologising without taking a breath, and the family curse words of Ginny, who had hit her nose on the ground.

“Sorry, Ginny!” cried the voice on the floor, who made no attempt at all to stand up. “Is – is it bleeding badly?”

Ginny, who now had blood leaking from her nose, glared down for a moment before sighing. She lifted her hand from her face and allowed her mother to cast a spell, which stopped the bleeding and fixed her nose.

“Thanks, mum,” she said and turned back towards the boy on the floor. “How’re you _still_ unable to use the Floo without breaking things, Neville?”

Harry turned the conversation out, not really caring about Longbottom and his lack of ability to use the Floo system, which was quite common for witches and wizards. Who in their right mind wouldn’t panic about being engulfed in fire? Even if the powder created harmless flames, there would always be a risk that the powder would fail and the flames would burn you alive. That risk was enough for him to sympathise with Longbottom, knowing that any panic during the Floo would cause varying issues, whether you shot out of the Floo, went to the wrong place, or even failed to move at all.

He turned towards the knock on the door and frowned when he caught sight of Granger. How did she Apparate? She was underage and her parents were Muggles. That was curious, but what was more curious was the timing of Granger and Longbottom. Almost seconds apart.

“I’ll get it,” he said, walking towards the front door. He opened the door slowly, poking his head through the gap that appeared, and made a sound of displeasure, as he had seen Aunt Petunia once do when some religious person appeared on her door. “We’re not interested, thanks,” he said, closing the door in the face of Granger.

“Who was that?” asked Mrs Weasley, her head tilted. “Did they offer to sell you something?”

“Kinda,” said Harry, shrugging. He realised, rather quickly, that the Weasley’s weren’t in a Muggle area, nor were they Muggles, and wouldn’t understand why someone would go knock on a stranger’s door. However, none of them seemed to be keen on debating what he had said. “They should be gone now, I imagine.”

“Fantastic,” said Mrs Weasley, moving everyone into the kitchen. “Going to another person’s house and expecting them to be accepting of that… Would anyone like some tea before Miss Granger comes?”

Everyone instantly agreed, no one willing to turn down the last cup of tea that was guaranteed before they would begin to set up camp at the World Cup. They all shifted towards to the dining room, speaking rather loudly. They laughed and scattered around the table, sitting wherever they could without any issues. No one heard the knock at the front door as the teacups floated across the room. No one heard the shout of frustration that followed.

“I wonder what’s taking Hermione so long,” said Ron, putting another spoon full of sugar into his tea. “She should’ve been here ages ago!”

“Maybe she couldn’t come,” said Neville, frowning at how much sugar Ron put into his tea. “I wish she’d let me know, though. We can’t wait around much longer for her.”

“She may have slept in,” said Lily, pulling the bowl of sugar away from Ronald. “If she’s not here in five minutes, I can go and check on her.”

The entirety of the room seemed to relax after Lily had spoken, knowing that Hermione wouldn’t miss the World Cup. It was a once in a lifetime event, and none of them desired for any of them to miss it, hence why the Weasley’s had given everything they could to attend. The room descended into polite chatter, soft laughter, and gossip from everyone. Even the adults who disliked Quidditch found some enjoyment in the whole ordeal.

The group shifted from the dining room the instant all cups had been drained of tea. A few of them checked their watches as they walked towards the sitting room, some even craned their neck to peek at the Weasley’s clock, which was well-known as an extraordinary piece of magic, just to see the time.

Harry, despite how curious he was, easily passed off the chance to be added to the clock, stating that he didn’t wish to intrude on the Weasley’s traditions by appearing on their family clock. He then picked up his brother and simply smiled, stating that he may make his own clock. His smile widened when Mrs Weasley laughed.

He shifted near the window, spotting Granger lurking around. He rested near it, blocking anyone else from seeing outside, knowing that they would spot her in a second. Her frizzy hair and slightly torn clothes would have caused distress almost instantly. When he heard a tap on the window, he reached behind his back and gave her the finger. The taps got louder and then vanished. When he twisted to look out the window, Granger was gone.

He turned back to the Weasley’s, who were prodding at their trunks, making sure they had everything. He lifted his brother up and pouted at him, making the boy laugh. He continued it for a while longer, enjoying the gentle laughter of his brother.

“Do you have everything?” he asked when the boy’s laughter stopped. “Of course you do, don’t you? Not like Longbottom who can’t even pack his trunk correctly.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, Longbottom,” said Harry, shifting towards where his own trunk had been moved to. “I don’t think Granger is coming, and, judging by the time, we barely have time to go and fetch her. If you miss the Portkey, then it could take you _hours_ to get back in.”

“I know,” said Lily, frowning. She rubbed at her cheek and then shook her head. “I’m not too excited at the prospect of missing the World Cup because she didn’t make her Portkey in time, but there is very little I can do about it.”

“Could just leave her.”

“James!” snapped Lily, her eyes wide. “How could you say something like that? Look, Harry’s even shocked at your words.”

Harry wasn’t shocked at James’ words, more to the fact that he and James had shared the same very thought. Of course, he knew that Granger was here and hadn’t missed her Portkey, but it seemed like his mother was intent to go and fetch Granger, which was not what he desired. He wondered how he could twist everything to work in his favour. Granger would rat him out instantly, knowing that she knew she was outside and refused to help her.

“Maybe she got lost on the path…” he muttered, trailing off with examples of parts where it was possible to go a different way. “She wouldn’t walk through the garden like a normal person. She would’ve gone around.”

“That could explain her lateness,” said Lily. “From what I have heard, she is rather punctual about everything. However, we will see when we all go outside and begin to walk towards the Portkey location.”

Harry watched as Mrs Weasley asked her children, mainly Ginevra and Ronald, if they were absolutely sure that they had everything they needed. He never understood how people could be so odd when it came to leaving things behind. They had magic to just summon the items. No one would be dumb enough to jump in front of a summoned object.

He shifted out of the way when Mrs Weasley came near him, grabbing something from the table. It seemed like five minutes had gone by in the few seconds that it had actually been. He wondered whether everyone was this frantic when on a timed schedule.

“It’s time!” shouted Mrs Weasley, a hint of panic to her tone as she scurried around the house, picking up a few last minute things. She glanced at the three tallest of her sons and folded her arms. “What are you three still doing?”

“Charlie, Percy, and myself are all Apparating to the World Cup, so we don’t have to leave for another three hours,” said Bill, trying his hardest not to laugh at the look his got from his youngest brother. “We got up early so that no one thought they could laze around and attempt to hitch a trip with us.”

“We could’ve slept in?” muttered Charlie, letting out a long sigh. “You said we had to be up earlier than everyone else, which made no sense…”

Harry slowly twisted away from the three much older boys, his right eye closing as he gently drummed the side of his temple. He knew that Portkeys were seriously complicated and really shouldn’t be put in the hands of children. Making a Portkey required weeks, if not months, of preparation that made them almost outdated and unused due to how long they took. The only positive side of them was that they could transport more than two or three people at once and had no real risk of damaging you if they failed.

The downside of Portkeys was the fact they required more emotion, memories, and a complete trust of the location to where they were going to. While Apparition required all of those things, even in small amounts, it was a drop in the ocean compared to that of a Portkey. Also, to add onto the growing list of required things for a Portkey, the object had to be tied to that location. You couldn’t pick up a random stone and turn it into a Portkey. The object needed significance to the location where you desired to go.

“Are you almost ready to go?” said Lily, snapping her son from his internal study session. “Molly is frantically making sure everything is ready, which means all of us should get out of the way and let her do that.”

“And I assume Nagini is going to stay here?”

“Of course,” said Lily, turning towards Neville. “We couldn’t take her with us and have her get lost or stepped on. We can see if Neville can speak to her, if you want.”

“That would be… fantastic,” said Harry, trying to hide his scowl. “She was last asleep on the bed I slept on. Perhaps we could all go and see. I’m certain Nagini wouldn’t mind too much. She’s a bit like a dog, you see, she likes to actually make sure I’m alright.”

Neville instantly nodded, not all ashamed of his ability to speak with snakes, and made a move to head up towards Ron’s bedroom. He peeked his head into the room, somewhat frightened that the snake may appear from nowhere and strike him. He relaxed when he saw the snake on Ron’s spare bed.

“It’s gotten massive –”

“She,” cut in Harry.

“Sorry – she’s gotten massive,” said Neville, looking towards the snake. “ **Are you alright to stay here, alone, for a while**?”

“ **I am not a hatchling, fat human** ,” hissed Nagini. “ **I know how to survive and what to do when I am alone. Now, go away and leave me in peace**.”

“Well, what did she say, Longbottom?” said Harry, glaring. “Will she stay here and not walk off?”

“Your snake called me _fat_ ,” said Neville, his eyes wide. “Your snake is nothing but rude – nothing like any other snake I’ve spoken to.”

“That’s because she’s far more intelligent than other snakes,” said Harry, lifting his nose. “And, compared to her, we’re all fat.”

* * *

The group eventually found themselves outside, fifteen minutes later than expected, and begun to walk down the path towards the nearby forest. It was, without a doubt, amusing to most of them that the adults set a strict schedule and somehow ruined it themselves by talking nonstop about snakes.

“My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, Septimus, acquired this land from a Muggle traveller who somehow acquired it and planned to move somewhere else,” said Arthur, pushing a leaf from a particularly nasty looking plant out of the way. “The man said that the forest nearby was haunted, filled to the brim with mad animals that no one could see. I guess he was right, as it was full of magical creatures, but no one ever believed him.”

“Did you have to say ‘great’ so many times, dad?”

“I did!” said Arthur, laughing. “It adds to the story. As I was saying, the land was full of magical creatures and when our ancestor discovered them, he began to cater to them, helping them and whatnot. The forest was full of Muggle things – half completed houses, some furniture, even a few early designs of what Muggles use now. It was like they had tried to settle in the forest.”

“What was your ancestor attempting?”

“He wanted to build a community of Muggles inside the magical forest,” said Arthur, nodding to James. “He succeeded for a while until he got too old and frail and could no longer meet the demands of the creatures. They promised to give up a part of their forest, but no more. If you head into the forest deeper, you may see ruins of buildings that nature had taken back.”

“If I remember right, it was one of your ancestors that helped found a trading hub around here,” said Harry, tilting his head. “It was hidden in the forest and contained things that would cause suspicion, but that’s how your family line acquired the land and maintained it. To Muggles, someone owns the land where your house is and the forest and entering it is an almost death. I assume it’s the wards that keep people out, but people have muttered serious danger inside the forest.”

“How’d you know that?”

“In Malfoy Manor is a list of all families, what land they own, and how they acquired it,” said Harry. “One of the Malfoy’s in the past desired to know what magical family owned what piece of land, how they got that piece of land, and how long they had held that particular piece of land.”

“Interesting,” said Arthur, rubbing his chin.

“Each generation has updated it, adding to the original writings,” muttered Harry. “It’s amazed me to learn just how much land witches and wizards own. Did you know that the Abbot’s, the ones currently attending Hogwarts, once owned the land that Hogsmeade was built on? They owned it in 1342 and held it for almost 200 years before a cocksure heir challenged someone to a duel and bet the land. The Abbot’s lost the land to the Smith’s – yes, the Smith in our year, too – who promptly gave the land, not really needing it, to Hogwarts. It’s why the Ministry cannot really intervene into Hogsmeade, despite the fact they desire to.”

“Jesus, the Malfoy’s do keep an eye on everyone.”

“They quit adding so much detail as the generations moved on,” said Harry. “As time went by, land, and the prestige that came with it, stopped being so desirable. Most witches and wizards don’t actually own the land through legal means, which means anyone can just come and usurp it without any serious consequence. It’s how Voldemort managed such a strong foothold.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You can’t kick someone from land you really don’t own,” said Harry. “The Ministry not helping people because, ‘It’s not their land’ was a well-used excuse. However, none of that really matters, does it? People learned and purchased their land so they could legally erect wards, enchantments, and spells to protect them and their family.”

“How much further?”

“It’s only a bit of a walk,” said Molly, panting slightly as she stepped over a fallen trunk. “Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for Hermione? Bill, Charlie, and Percy will keep an eye out, but it would be better if we caught her on the way.”

“We’re looking, Mum, don’t fret!”

“Are you?”

Everyone whipped around and stared at Hermione, who had quite the assortment of twigs in her hair. She had a slightly exasperated expression on her face and looked as if she might explode if prodded.

“Hermione, dear,” said Molly, rushing forwards. “We _almost_ missed you.”

“Some _thing_ held me up,” said Hermione, glancing around and levelling a stare at Harry. “I saw you all leaving the house and hurried to catch up, but slipped, as you can see, and rolled down a hill.”

“Well, at least you caught up,” said Harry, smiling. “We should be thankful for that.”

“While I was chasing to catch up, which took quite a while, I had a pretty odd thought,” said Hermione, beginning to walk alongside the group. “How are _we_ going to get to the World Cup without Muggles noticing?”

“It’s been a massive organisational problem,” said Arthur, sighing. “The trouble the Ministry had with the World Cup is that over a hundred thousand tickets were sold, with more than that expecting to arrive for last-minute seats or to camp out. The Ministry was unable to find a magical site large enough to accommodate that many witches and wizards. There are places Muggles can’t penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Anyway, the whole Ministry’s been working constantly to find a site large enough, and out of the way, that we can all fit into.”

“And they found a place?”

“Eventually,” said Arthur. “Someone found a deserted moor, which the Ministry approved of. They then got to work setting up as much anti-Muggle precautions as possible. It won’t be as secure as Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters, but it should hold until after the World Cup and it can all be pulled down. The chance that a Muggle somehow stumbles upon the moor is impossible. Its location is very, very secluded, almost so that a Muggles hasn’t been there in years. However, the Ministry is taking no risks and staggering the arrivals of every Portkey. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re headed.”

“According to Lucius, the Ministry decided to stagger the arrivals due to something that happened years and years ago,” said Harry, ignoring the black mass that Arthur was point towards. “Something about people merging into each other due to ill-timed arrivals. Some of the cheaper tickets have had people there since the day they were sold. Most tickets, depending on the cost, have a certain time or time group that you arrive in. For example, I really couldn’t have attended with Draco because he arrives about five minutes before the game officially starts, whereas we were set to arrive the morning of the World Cup.”

“ _Five_ minutes before the match starts?” said Ron. “How will Malfoy get anything set up?”

“House-elves…” said Harry, muttering under his breath. “However, they will simply arrive, watch the game, and then leave without staying much afterwards as they simply have better accommodations at home.”

“Hey, Dad, what object is the Portkey?”

“You know, I have no idea,” said Arthur, looking at his daughter with a gentle smile. “I never thought to ask about it.”

“You what!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” said Arthur. “We have to look for a manky old boot, something that looks like it has been sitting in the moor for years.”

The large group fell into their own discussions after that, nothing else but their soft footfalls as they made their way down the hill and towards the small village. The rays of the sun slowly pushed over the village, allowing from some light as they made their way through a discrete alley and through the town, unaware to the residents living there.

They continued, hardly taking even a moment to breathe, and soon found themselves heading towards Stoatshead Hill, which they began to climb without even pausing. Each of them slipped over wet patches of grass, fell into rabbit holes, and Ginny tumbled down the hill after a rabbit appear near her and tripped her over.

“Phew,” said Arthur, rubbing at his glosses, panting. He checked his watch and grinned. “Well, we’ve made great time – we’ve got ten minutes to spare.”

Ginny crawled up the hill, her head poking over it as she slumped down with a loud groan. She pulled herself up the hill with her arms and stood, panting heavily.

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Yeah,” said Ginny, giving her mum a smile. “Yeah, thanks. Side hurts a bit.”

“There’s no time for chit-chat, ladies,” said Arthur, laughing. “I think we should start looking for the Portkey before it activates without us. Look for other people, too, as we’re assigned with two other groups.”

Harry split off away from everyone and frowned as he searched around. It hardly looked like anyone had been here, let alone placed a Portkey. Therefore, knowing that the Portkey wasn’t near his location, he leant against a tree and took a well-deserved break. If ten people couldn’t find a Portkey, four of them adults, he would be shocked and accept that none of them really deserved to attend the World Cup.

Granted, Mr Weasley already explained that the Portkey would most likely be some sort of litter, most likely a large piece of rubbish. He couldn’t help but smile as he imagined any of the Malfoy’s touching a piece of rubbish.

“Something amusing?”

Harry slowly lifted his head and stared at the much taller boy with something akin to amusement. He seriously debated about remarking rudely, but thought against it when he caught sight of a familiar head climbing over a fallen tree trunk.

“Nothing too much,” he said, gesturing towards the others. “They’re looking for the Portkey. I’m taking a well-earned break.”

“Don’t like exercise?” teased Ernie, his eyes shining in amusement. “I guess that’s why you stopped playing Quidditch.”

“Got me,” said Harry, throwing his hands up. “I’m lazy. The only time I stretch is when I’m getting out of bed.”

“Nice to know.”

“And you,” said Harry, turning back to the tall boy, “are something Doggery.”

“I’m Cedric,” said Cedric, standing as tall as he could. “And my surname isn’t Doggery – quit laughing, Ernie – it’s Diggory.”

“My mistake, Diggory,” said Harry. “Hufflepuff Captain, if I recall correctly. You were made Captain last year and _almost_ won the Quidditch Cup. You did a decent job, I guess.”

“What a prime example of a backhanded compliment,” said Cedric. “Thank you, I guess. While we’re throwing around compliments, it’s good to see less cheating from Slytherin.”

“While Flint was a… remarkable Captain, he lacked certain qualities that would have allowed him to excel,” said Harry. “I’m sure he’ll jump between teams until he finds one that can utilise his brute force approach. He also used our questionable reputation as a shield during his time. He realised everyone would assume we would cheat, so he did.”

“Right.”

“Yes,” said Harry, turning towards Ernie. He frowned and squinted. “I had no idea that you were joining us on this Portkey. It was meant to just be the Potter, Longbottom, Weasley, Diggory, and Granger families. Six families seems a tad excessive, even if two of them are only one person.”

“I spent last night at Ced’s house,” said Ernie. “Decided to tag along with his family for the ride. Shouldn’t make a difference ‘cos his mum fell ill and is staying at home. As much as I feel for her missing the World Cup, I’m quite glad because now I’ll be able to track Justin down.”

“Ced, is it?”

“Shut up, Harry, you git,” muttered Ernie. “How’d you like it if I called you ‘Har’, or ‘Ha’, or even ‘Re’?”

“It wouldn’t bother me because you’d be the one shortening a nickname,” said Harry. “Harry is a shortened version of Hadrian or Harrison. Making a nickname of a nickname is _bad_.”

“How’s it bad?”

“It’s lazy,” said Harry, mocking a singsong tone. “And don’t you even dare think about calling me Hadrian or Harrison. Not my name and only _one_ person may call me either of those.”

“Why not?” said Ernie, tilting his head. “I quite like the name Hadrian. It suits you, I think.”

“Most likely because that name, whether it’s his proper name or not, is reserved for only his mother,” said Cedric, caving in and sitting on a tree trunk. “Sort of like how only your mother may call you Ernest.”

Ernie hissed like a cat who had its tail trodden on. He glared for a few seconds before slumping and letting out a defeated sigh.

“Makes sense,” he muttered. “I won’t call you anything but ‘Harry’.”

“Much appreciated, Ernie,” said Harry, a wide smile on his face. He stood and stretched. “Now, as much as I do enjoy sitting down, we really should make a tiny effort in acting like we actually _looked_ for the Portkey. Kick about some dirt, fake some footprints. The usual.”

“Huh?”

“You see, Weasley saw me, _us_ , sitting here, doing nothing,” said Harry, tapping his head. “Weasley’s got an unyielding grudge against me that I can’t fathom. I must’ve kicked his dying pet in another life. Regardless, before you even ask, I have done nothing to wrong him _or_ his family. No matter what I do, he always has something bad to say… No matter, though, the Portkey isn’t here.”

“How do you know?” asked Cedric. “You never even looked.”

“I looked,” said Harry, quite defensively.

“I watched you walk towards here, look around, and then sit right down!”

“I looked while sitting,” said Harry. “It won’t be a rock. It’ll stand out to _us_ , but not Muggles. Now, it’s not here, so we should make an effort to reach the hill where Weasley, the girl, is doing nothing because she’s getting special treatment for falling down the hill. Twice.”

“Why do you sound so smug?”

“Because I made her fall down,” said Harry, shifting abruptly. “Come, come. Weasley is about to tattle. I desire to put him in his place.”

“Honestly…”

Harry, with Cedric and Ernie trailing behind him, walked towards the hill and easily climbed the small bump in the ground and smiled at his mother, who hovered nearby, watching as Daniel stumbled around. He paused near Mr Weasley and grinned as he caught sight of Ronald huffing, trying to catch his breath.

“We searched and found nothing, Mr Weasley,” he said gently, making sure to speak before Ronald could. “I found Cedric and Ernie while looking, so surely all three of us couldn’t miss a Portkey.”

“Dad, I –”

“Well done, boys,” said Arthur, cutting off his son. “I dare say you’re one of the first few people to search their area. Now, Ron, what do you need? Have you found the Portkey or are finished, too?”

“No, but –”

“We have less than two minutes to find that Portkey, Ron,” said Arthur. “We don’t have _time_ to waste by chatting aimlessly. If you have something to say, say it.”

Ron scurried off as someone boomed they found the Portkey, and sent up some discrete sparks, which had everyone, even the women, sprinting to the location with reckless abandon. Harry, keeping up with ease due to his small head start, found it amusing to see Weasley stew about what had happened. He sneered at the aged man that held a boot and was waving it around.

“Arthur, old friend,” said the man, placing the boot back on the ground. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Long walk?”

“Quite,” said Arthur, gesturing for the kids to take place around the boot. “Sadly, I can’t explain anything, but do _not_ let go of the boot, no matter what your mind tells you. Portkeys are… dangerous when misused. Got it, kids?”

Harry nodded, already knowing quite a few things about Portkeys thanks to Tom, who decided to chime in with grim tales about people who let go midway through travel and were flung through the air at record speeds, often dying the moment they let go. He glanced at his mother, and brother, and gave them both a grim look, which made his mother chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” said Lily, holding her arms up, which caused Daniel to hang from them as if stuck. “He won’t be able to let go of me or get away until I cancel the spell.”

Harry, satisfied with what he saw, turned and nodded at Ernie, who took his hand and held it like a partner would. He swallowed, feeling his hand sweat slightly. It honestly felt like he was hyperaware of Ernie’s hand. He could feel each nuance in the boy’s hand with ease, like he had been touching Ernie’s hand for years. The warmth he felt, the subtle squeeze that Ernie gave moments before the Portkey would activate, and the sweat that was now a mix of them both.

While the handholding went unnoticed by most of the crowd, a few saw it and tilted their heads accordingly. Hermione, one of the only younger people to spot it, simply frowned. She glanced to Potter’s other hand, wondering if he was just the type of person to hold hands, and found that he barely touched the boot, making sure his fingers weren’t near anyone else’s.

She was unable to question her suspicions when the gentle pull on her navel begun. She smiled, thinking that the adults had exaggerated, for a second before it turned into a grimace as the gentle pull morphed into a painful yank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get out. For weeks I had no desire to write. :x
> 
> You're all the best for being so patient.


	8. An Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: Chapter features multiple languages and hard to read accents, as well as some slight homophobic language.  
> Translations are not provided, but are often remarked in dialogue afterwards or explained through actions. :)

Chapter 8 – **An Adventure**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Harry groaned as he found himself face first on a patch of wet grass. It didn’t take him long to realise that someone else was on top of him, and he prayed to every deity that he knew that it wasn’t Longbottom, Weasley, or Granger. He heard more groaning, glad he wasn’t the only person in pain, some light swearing, which would have come from the youngest male Weasley, and then laughter, which would have come from the adults who had mastered travel with Portkeys.

He took Ernie’s hand, who pulled him up with a grunt. They stared at each other and laughed for a solid twenty seconds. He studied the adults, and Cedric, as they stood there, speaking like they hadn’t been tugged from the naval ruthlessly, and then hurled through the sky to a location that could be hours away from where they once were.

He allowed himself to be gently nudged out of the small fenced off grassy area they arrived in without any sort of complaint, whether outwards or inwards. He knew that another group of two or three families would appear in the next two to three minutes, assuming everything was on time. However, knowing the Ministry, families would be arriving well over their scheduled times.

He twisted towards his mother, who was trying to do everything by herself while holding Daniel. He wondered why she was so intent on never asking for help, even when she needed it. Right now, James was doing nothing, the adult Weasley’s were fussing over their youngest child, and the Diggory’s were long gone or speaking to someone else.

“Do you want me to take Daniel?” he asked as he slowly walked towards his mother. “That way you can get set up the tent without having to juggle him around.”

“That would be fantastic,” said Lily, standing upright and gently passing her youngest son towards her eldest son. She smiled and then paused. “Just make sure you keep a close eye and a tight grip on him. He likes to wander and adventure. And with hundreds and thousands of strangers in one place, he could easily get lost in the crowd of people who can barely see what’s in front of them on the best of days.”

“Adventuring?” said Harry, his voice full of excitement as he knelt next to his brother. “You like to adventure? I never thought of it! C’mon, let’s go explore. Maybe we’ll find some treasure around here… But, before we start our journey, you have to promise to hold my hand all the way! You could be swept away in our adventure and then how’ll you tell everyone about it…?”

Lily watched as her two sons slowly disappeared out of sight, Harry still making vague promises about the adventures they would have, despite looking quite silly speaking with such enthusiasm to a young child. She would have never imagined that her eldest son could be so quick to flip personalities from an impeccable young man that tried his hardest, despite failing, to be an adult into someone who wanted the very best for a young child.

She mentally debated about telling Narcissa but decided against it. Harry wouldn’t mind, but she assumed he wasn’t embarrassed about it, especially with the way he glared at anyone who looked at him funny.

Harry led his brother through the crowded area, whispering about people and how they weren’t the bad person they were avoiding. He made remarks about everyone he saw, whether they were suspicious, good people, or neutral people, unsure of where they were going. He laughed when Daniel called someone fat, smiled when they boy got something right, and beamed when he tried to enter someone’s half set up tent.

He picked his brother up and placed him on his shoulders as he ventured down the slightly less crowded tented area. He glanced around at the tents, noting most were in various states of disrepair, the little plots around them filled with chairs, tables, and some rubbish. He walked by a family that seemed to take pride in screaming at each other instead of looking presentable in public. It reminded him of that Muggle he saw last year that muttered about having anxiety yet screamed or constantly made a scene, drawing attention to her.

Pushing the thought aside, he walked down a hill, which had random pieces of logs placed down it, acting as some kind of stairway. It was obvious this was here before the World Cup as there were signs of nails in the wood, holding it all together. As something that _should_ be temporary, he couldn’t see wizards bothering with nails or making a stairway for the people who had spent weeks here already.

He had no idea that there were low-class magical people. He just assumed everyone would either be ‘normal’ or ‘rich’. None of them looked like they suffered any kind of addiction, which could hamper the ability to work and make a living. There was a woman washing her clothes in a wooden tub, not even using spells to clean.

“Hang on,” he said to Daniel, who laughed. “We need to investigate something here!”

“Wotcher lookin’ at, isit? Comin’ ter gloat, right, are yer?”

Harry blinked and turned around, looking at a boy about his age. What he said was quite hard to understand, but he caught the gist of it. He held his laugh, knowing the boy was dead serious and would be quite offended if he did laugh.

“No,” he said simply, gesturing towards his brother. “We’re having a look around.”

“Sure yer are,” said the boy, puffing his chest out. “Come ‘ere ter have a gawk at the bloomin’ poor kids, init? Poke fun, laugh, right, and lift yor chin up. ‘Oo’d want ter ‘ave a look ‘round ‘ere. It’s a mess. They call us ‘the bloody wizardin’ zoo’, they do.”

“Well,” said Harry, somewhat confused, “I didn’t come to ‘gawk’ at the poor kids, I came here because my brother and I are on an adventure. I don’t really _care_ what they call you, do I?”

“Mike, ‘oo ‘re talkin’ ter?”

“Who’s that?” said Harry, glancing around.

“That’s Elizabeff, right, but we call ‘er Liza,” said Mike. “And I'm bloody well just goin’ on ter some rich boy wiv ‘is bruvver, I fink.”

“So ya ‘re just talkin’ ter sum Queen’s Park Ranger ‘oo prolly wants ter give ya In The Nude for ‘is daily quota? Nah wahn chairs and bears abaht us, ya kna. Not even that geeza that looked loike a lydy. We’re just amusement, Mike.”

“What in God’s name is she saying?” said Harry, his eyes wide. “Why is she calling me a ‘Queen’s Park Ranger’? And what’s this about me giving you it in the nude!?”

The boy, Mike, started laughing. He clutched his sides, wiping at his eye with his left hand as he wheezed for breath. He finally composed himself and saw the angry look on the other boy’s face, and lost it, breaking down into a fit of giggles.

“She’s sayin’ that yor only ‘ere ter complete yor daily quota of ‘elpin’ the poor. As for the chuffin’ rest, right, that’s not right interestin’. Just a wee fun.”

“I’m still confused, but you at least make sense,” said Harry, pointing at the boy. He pointed to the girl and added, “She, however, does not.”

“I make perfect Eigh’een Pence, it’s ya that doesn't. Ya Rabbit and Pork loike ya ‘ave a stick up your Khyber pass. ‘Oh, butcher’s at me, I’m the bloody Nellie Dean! Ba daahhhn ter me, me royal subjects!’ Nah! You’re just as Sorry and Sad as that geeza that looked loike a twist n twirl, I tell ya wot.”

Harry scratched his head.

“I tell ya, wite, these rich boys fin’ they’re god’s gift, they do. They come into our ‘rea and try and take it over loike their ancestors did our ‘omes. Oh, yeah, me mum ‘as been tellin’ me ‘eaps and ‘eaps of stories abaht the bleedin’ past, ya clock. She Stoke on Trent daahhhn wahn day, and she said, ‘Liza, I’m tellin’ ya, if ya ever come across a geeza that looks loike ‘e ‘as Bread and Honey, ‘e’s a Bob Cryer and a cheat and ya steer crystal.’ And I did, didn’t I? Except for that geeza that looked loike a Gooseberry Puddin’. ‘E was pushy, that wahn.”

Harry closed his mouth and tried to think of what the girl was saying. Some of it made sense, it really did, but the rest was just headache inducing. He had no idea where to even start if he desired to write it down and attempt to translate it.

“I’ll talk to you,” he said, looking at the boy. He turned back, stared at the girl, and said, very slowly, “I can’t understand you.”

“I’m not Mum and Dad,” said Liza. “Ya daan’t need ter speak ter me loike I’m Jack's Alive. Ya Iron Hoof.”

“I didn’t call you my Mum or Dad!” said Harry, glaring. “Why can’t you speak normally?”

“Liza, why don’t yer go and spot if mum or dad needs any ‘elp, isit?” said Mike, smiling. “I’ll speak ter this boy and join yer soon. Tell them not ter panic, right, I’m sure they’re ‘ave a look at us.”

Harry watched as the girl trotted away, a slight smile on her face. He debated whether the girl was insane, simply messing with him. He passed it off, knowing the girl simply spoke like that. He a few questions that he will ask the boy the instant he had the chance.

“Wotcher need?”

“That girl. Liza, mentioned a ‘geezer’,” said Harry, thinking. “Whenever she mentioned him, she often referred to him doing charity. What did she mean by that?”

“Ah, the man that looked like a lady!” said Mike, surprised. “Blimey! Yes, he came ‘round us house a bit ago and forced these tickets on us wile some lass wearin’ an animal wrote it dahn wiv an odd quill.”

“You mean he forced you to take the tickets while some woman wearing an animal – oh, animal coat…” said Harry, trailing off. “Did the man have long blond hair?”

“Yup!” said Mike, “‘e ‘ad long blond 'air that were longer than me mum’s ‘air. He stood a bit like yer, and ‘ad this cane wiv a snake on it. Liza were probably a tad angry because yer do act like ‘im... a bit less stuck up, right, ffough.”

“Gee thanks,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “Lucius Malfoy. I actually know him, so that doesn’t surprise me. He’s well-known for being charitable –”

“We didn’t bloody want ‘is charity! Right!”

“Didn’t say you did,” said Harry, throwing up his hands the best he could without knocking his brother off. “I _think_ I understand the rest. What kind of insult is calling someone an ‘Iron Hoof’, though?”

“The good insults are ones no geezer understands,” said Mike, chuckling. “As for wot she meant, right, she were callin’ yer a poof. Yer know, a poofter. A boy that likes uvver fellas and waves ‘is ‘and ‘round like a girl. I don’t fink she’s wrong, right, but yer did send a girl a way ter speak ter a boy... ‘Ave a look, I don’t got anyfink against yer, but I’m bloody well not poor enough ter need a few extra Sickles ter do any poofter stuff wiv yer. We may be poor, but we’re not that desperate. I ‘ave a girlfriend, yer know.”

“Wait a minute,” said Harry, surprised. “You think I’m gay? That’s honestly arguable. I don’t _look_ or sound gay, do I? And I most certainly don’t wave my hand around like some people tend to do. Regardless, I’m not a ‘poofter’, as you put it, and my intention in coming here wasn’t to hunt down a quick shag behind your tent and then throw some Sickles towards you for the ‘service’. No, I was simply looking around, having an adventure with my brother, who is currently on my shoulders, when you called me over. You asked me if I was coming here to gloat, of all things.”

“I did, I know,” said Mike, kicking the dirt with his old sneakers. “But any ‘oo comes ‘ere always ‘ave a looks at us like we're animals. Dad can’t work now because ‘e were ‘it wiv a spell ages ago. He can’t remember fings anymore. Yer know, right, one day ‘e even forgot ‘e were a wizard and frew out ‘is wand! Right! As for me mum, well she can’t right do magic anymore and were afraid wen the bloomin’ letters came... she knew we’d be laughed at.”

“The Ministry should have helped both your parents,” said Harry, humming. “Really, everyone knows they’re incompetent and’ll never actually be able to help those that deserve it. Amnesia is pretty common when hit with spells, especially those that target the head. As for your mother, did she just lose her magic?”

“One day it just ‘ad the mockers put on,” said Mike, scratching his head. “She tried and tried, right, but it just wouldn’t work. She said that she couldn’t do magic anymore because she were a failure. I’ll get out me spoons. I don’t believe that, ffough, right, because I spot her do magic sometimes, but it takes ‘er so much more effort.”

“Has she spoken to anyone about it?”

“Nah, she ‘asn't,” said Mike. “She don’t want strange men ‘ave a lookin’ into ‘er life, yer see.”

“I understand,” said Harry, thinking about what he would say next. “Her failure to perform magic could be due to the mind. It’s pretty well known that depression can cause spells to fail because they require intent and emotion and depression seems to suck up both of those. Maybe pitch her the idea and see how she reacts. It could be beneficial for all of you. And no one would laugh at you. At the most, perhaps, they’d make you speak to confuse people, but that’s about it.”

“It might be that, right, but I don’t fink so. Right. I know me mum’s not crazy. I’ll get out me spoons. She’s just a bit sad because life is ‘ard, yer know. Well, right, yer wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t call her crazy,” said Harry, speaking softly. “I simply stated that her emotions aren’t in tune with her magic and it’s causing her spells to falter or fail. It’s not a simple fix that can be done overnight, or even in a year, but she’ll get better eventually, I’m sure of it…”

“Oh, right, I’m bloody well sorry. I ‘ave ter be the one ter defend me family,” said Mike, scuffing his shoe once more. “No bloke else right cares about any of us, so I got ter make sure I ‘ave a look after them and make sure no geezer is tryin’ ter get in the way. No ‘ard feelings, right, yeah?”

* * *

Harry dropped his brother off back at the tent, the boy quite sleepy and tired from his long day of having an amazing adventure. He smiled at his mother and set out once more, this time planning on skipping beyond the area where he met Mike and his confusing sister.

He went around, stumbling across a small area where some Japanese wizards where practising with swords. He watched, amazed, as the men used various forms of magic as they struck. Sometimes a shard of ice would surround the tip of the blade and then shatter on a strike, other times the person would simply slice across the chest and a beam of blue and green wind would appear and stagger the other person.

It was truly mesmerising to watch, knowing that the wizards in question didn’t use any form of wand or conduit to cast spells, they simply desired them and so it happened. He realised, almost instantly, that the level of control and ability the two wizards posed would be phenomenal.

He took a step back and watched as the two men bowed, then simply walked away as if nothing had ever occurred in that little arena that had been set up.

“ショーを楽しんだか、若い男?”

Harry twisted and stared at the Japanese man, his eyes filling with confusion as he struggled to understand what the man was saying. He didn’t want to seem ignorant, like so many other wizards here. However, he didn’t want to act like he knew Japanese when he didn’t.

“I apologise,” he said, head slightly bowed, “I cannot speak Japanese.”

“I understand,” said the slightly aged man, laughing jovially. “I can speak both Japanese and English. I will use the latter for you so you do not become confused. However, I do enjoy speaking to the youth in a language that is not their own to see how they act.”

“How they act?”

“Some people like to act like they understand when they do not,” said the man. “You learn a lot about people when they act like they understand but they do not. You, however, young man, seem to know when to pull your pride and honour in.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, his face twitching a little as he tried not to sound too awkward. “I try to not come across as a know-it-all, despite the fact that most people are content on remaining ignorant on almost everything. I do know when to fold, and accept the defeat, or when to play my hand and reel in my winnings.”

“Ah, that is not a phrase that I have ever heard before,” said the man, smiling. “I do think I understand what you were aiming at. I do agree with your sentiments, however. A wise man will accept defeat should it cause less damage than victory. We are prideful, but not so much that it would stain our honour. Sometimes victory is also a defeat.”

“Wise words,” said Harry, nodding. “But, sometimes, wisdom escapes us all.”

“You are correct,” said the man, sitting down slowly. “I saw that you were quite enthralled with the small fight you saw. It is not every day that a young person will stop to stare an art that is quite old, quite forgotten, and takes more time to learn than what they desire to give. I was not going to approach you, at first I assumed you were mesmerised by the uniqueness of the art, but then I looked within, consulted the winds, and caught sight of a dulled flame inside you. You are quite like me. We both walk towards the flame. Our affinity, our magic, our soul is the Flame. Your Flame has been dulled, nearly extinguished. I must aid you, so it may become a roaring Flame.”

Harry was quite taken aback, especially with how dramatic and intense the man got. He wanted to claim that nothing inside of him was dulled, but that’s what the man expected. The old man, wise as wise can be, desired him to act foolishly, claiming that no part of him was nearly extinguished.

“You believe you can make this dull Flame roar?” he said after a moment of silence. “You believe you can make my Flame soar once more?”

“You do not believe that there is a flame inside of you,” said the man, his eyes narrowing. “You doubt my words, you doubt my experience and wisdom, but I see the Flame, so I will allow for _some_ mistakes to be made. Tell me, young child, would you like to partake in a little duel? My sword against your wand.”

“The Trace –”

“You have the _Flame_ ,” said the man, standing. “You have the Flame, and that means that you are no ordinary wizard, no matter how dull and smothered it may appear. You can do things no other wizard in the United Kingdom will be able to achieve. I dare say you would pose a threat to most of us in Japan, should you desire to. The Flame overpowers the Trace. I urge you, one last time, do not lie or seek to misdirect me. You are an accomplished Occlumens, but that skill does not compete against age-old Japanese traditions and various ancient rituals. Now, I think it is time I attempted to place some kindling on your Flame. Come now, young child, we have no time to waste.”

Harry followed the man, confused. It was like the man could read his every thought and that frightened him. The man never explained anything, he simply smiled or frowned and continued to walk up the small incline towards the few huts and makeshift arena.

“私の生徒と私はアリーナを使いたいですが,” said the man, speaking to another Japanese person. “私は、アリーナはしばらく使用されていないだろうと私は仮定し、私はそれの完全な可能性を使用することができるでしょうか?”

“はい.”

“I was asking for use of the arena,” said the man, hiding a smile. “You are quite fortunate that it was I who spoke to you. I am one of two that can speak fluent English. Come and ask my good friend something.”

“Alright,” said Harry, pausing near the man. “Hello.”

“Hello, young child,” said the man, a smile appearing on his face. “What is in our humble residence?”

“Uh,” said Harry, scratching his head. “I’m not too sure…?”

“This is my good friend Haru, who I have known since he somehow stumbled into my arena and seemed to be able to last long enough for some kind of kinship to form,” said the man, smiling. “And I am Asahi. Do not bother with any kind of formality. You have the Flame, and they will recognise it, and be offended should you seek to imitate proper manners when you are special. Simply state your name, age, if asked, and bow when it seems applicable.”

“Hello, Haru, I’m Harry,” said Harry, smiling towards Asahi, who gave a subtle nod, which made him realise he should be bowing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello, Harry,” said Haru, grinning. “As you know, I am Haru. I have been studying English for over a year. It is quite difficult to understand, but I am making a lot of progress each day.”

“He is one of few who has shown dedication,” said Asahi. “Come, Harry, it is about time I sought to make your Flame brighter than it has ever been.”

Harry followed behind Asahi, who had given him no room to argue or attempt to decline the offer, with his head slightly bowed. He caught sight of a few witches, wizards, and even children stepping from their tents and walking towards the arena. He really didn’t want to fight someone decades older than him and then suffer the bitter taste of defeat in front of an audience.

He noticed, as they climbed a sharp incline, that the older man didn’t seem to be bothered by his age. He was able to carry himself with the grace of a teenager. He would never admit it out loud, but he was worried.

“Here we are,” said Asahi, smiling at the arena with something akin to remembrance in his eyes. “This arena is not like we are used to, but it will suffice. I do believe everyone should start at the bottom and work their way up. Even our ruler once fought in an arena like this.”

“Sometimes simplicity is better.”

“Take a look at the arena and study it,” said Asahi. “I will go and speak to the overseer and then I will be back. Haru will keep you company. Remember, young child, study it.”

Harry nodded and looked towards the arena, making sure to study it like he would a book. He took in the dirt, the two stones, the wooden fence, and the marks on the fence. In the end, he found an arena that he would be soon standing in and fighting.

“Maybe I can be of some help?” said Haru, smiling slightly. “Master Asahi does not mean that you study an arena like a book, it means studying your future with the arena. My first arena had no fence, no stone to stand up. It was just a soil area, and now we will fight in the gold stadium. They are all about travel.”

“I think I understand,” said Harry, humming. “The whole point is to remember where you once were and where you soon will be. Everyone starts here, or around it.”

“Yes, that is it! I am sorry, I could not speak very well,” said Haru, frowning. “English is difficult to speak. There are a few words that do not sound well in English.”

“You do not need to worry, Haru,” said Asahi, repeating it in Japanese shortly afterwards, “you have done remarkably. As for you, my young pupil, have you realised the purpose of the arena and the message it sends?”

Harry gave a slight nod.

“Fantastic!” said Asahi. “I am certain you have already realised that the journey of arenas is different for everyone. Some people see it as embracing a challenge and moving up as you get more experienced, others a climbing of social ranking, and our own ruler saw it as a trial of strength, honour, courage, and acceptance. Each person will see it differently and that is fine.”

“I’m curious,” muttered Harry, glancing around. “Are fights in the arena usually this observed? I didn’t see the spectators at the fight I saw.”

Asahi chuckled and simply shook his head, gesturing for the three of them to move into the arena. He pointed out the rules, what the stones meant, and even the drawings in the dirt. With an easy smile, he stood on his rock and demonstrated a few stances.

“People are watching because of who I am,” he said, knowing the child in front of him would continue to dwell on it. “It may also be because you are an outsider who has the Flame at an age so long. They believe you will become something of a God. Our ruler had the Flame at eighteen, which was unheard of at the time and here you are, barely an adult and already have it. You are _special_ and they want to see what you can do. None of them will forget this moment.”

“Wait, really?” said Harry, shocked. “But I heard Haru call you ‘Master Asahi’.”

“I guess they do see me as some kind of head figure,” said Asahi. “That comes with age, experience, and wisdom. I am simply their elder and they show me respect. I am not some hidden warrior that defeats evil, saves damsels. I have been open and honest with you from the very moment we spoke.”

“I guess,” said Harry, laughing. “But there is something about you that doesn’t make sense to me, I just can’t figure it out.”

“Perhaps that is because I, too, am special in my own society,” said Asahi. “Nothing like our ruler, or previous rulers, but I can see the four elements, something that only appears very rarely in our culture. Perhaps, it is also because I have the Flame, the rarest of the four elements. I will explain at a later date when your Flame is brighter and not on the verge of being extinguished.”

Harry nodded, muttering in agreement, and followed Asahi’s directions until he was on the rock opposite the man. He frowned, looking around at the dirt with a slight hint of concern.

“Why are the rocks here?” he asked. “I assumed they were an obstacle at first, but now that I’m standing on it…”

“If you step off the rock, you are defeated,” said Asahi. “I do believe you are above the level of not using a rock and have the balance to start at this level. Do you think I am wrong and that you do not require that difficulty?”

“The rock is fine,” said Harry, somewhat startled that he had been played like that. “How do we avoid each other’s attacks if we cannot dodge?”

“I have never seen anyone dodge a spell before,” said Asahi, his eyebrows knitting together as he thought on it. “Almost every spell in existence travels faster than a human body can move. Sure, you may be able to bend or twist out of the way, but why would you risk that when you could use other methods that are guaranteed to work? I do not understand why your first thought was dodging unless… Oh, I understand. A spell by an untrained witch or wizard will travel slowly, allowing you to physically move out of the way. You best be prepared to rely on your spells, young child, because you will no longer be walking from a spell as you have been.”

“I see,” said Harry, slightly afraid. He balanced on his rock, testing the area that he could move and found that area to be very, very small. “And the first person to step off loses?”

“That is correct,” said Asahi. “There are only three rules that you must be aware of. Rule one: do not, under any circumstance, cast a spell that may cause permanent damage, lead to death, or kill. None of them have any purpose in any duel. Rule two: the moment a body part touches the soil, the fight is over. If you are casting a spell, cancel it. The Latin spell is simply ‘ _Desino_ ’ while aiming your wand upwards. Yes, you may cast it in the middle of a spell and it will still work. Rule three: there is no honour in whining. Accept your defeat and focus on getting better. Do not whine and moan about unfair tactics. We Japanese pride ourselves on honour and prestige, not victory. Do you agree?”

“I agree,” said Harry, glancing towards the rock. “They are good rules.”

“Victory can bring honour and prestige, but one should not rely solely on it,” said Asahi. “I do expect you to falter, regardless, when I begin to adopt a more offensive stance because you are at a disadvantage. Remember that not only do I have decades of experience, I am using spells from a foreign country in a manner that you would have never seen before. I may teach you, in due time, but for now, this is all but a test.”

Harry nodded in agreement, fully understanding that this was nothing more than a test and losing the fight would not cause any long-term damage. He didn’t plan on losing, however, and he would give it everything he had, making sure that he emerged victorious and proved everyone that he was an amazing duellist, an amazing wizard. He would have to change his style, especially because it consisted of being somewhat mobile, but he could adapt.

His biggest concern was Asahi, who had just stepped onto his own rock, flicked a hand towards the soil, neatening it up as if no one had ever stepped on it before, and placed his hands onto the grip of his sword. He had no idea on how the man fought, how the man weaved attacks, whether he was a good duellist or sloppy. He was also at a loss on what Asahi could throw at him. A sword indicated close range, else they would have never have gone out of use.

‘ _Have you forgotten that Japan idolised samurai, so it only makes sense their witches and wizards still follow that same technique_ ,’ said Tom, sounding quite snarky. ‘ _Your wand is your conduit. The katana is theirs. It is a longer, sharper, more potent version of your wooden twig_.’

Harry only just managed to suppress his dismissive snort.

‘ _You saw two of them using them before and you still show disbelief_?’ said Tom. ‘ _I do forget that you are still a teenager, unable to comprehend anything outside of your sphere of influence. Each country uses different methods of magic. One day, when you can travel, go to a land far away and examine them_.’

“Are you ready, young child?” said Asahi, speaking louder than normal. “Once the duel starts, there is little room for distractions.”

“I’m ready.”

“Excellent,” said Asahi, smiling slightly as he twisted towards an older man near the arena. “始めましょう.”

There was the sound of a gong that seemed to ring across the land for miles, despite the fact it wouldn’t have gone too far else it would have drawn too much attention. The people watching leaned forwards, excited. The nearby birds chirped loudly and flew back into their trees, seeking shelter from stray spells and the ambient magic that lingers after a duel.

There was silence for the span of twenty seconds before Harry threw the first spell to kick off the duel. It was nothing amazing, just something to test the waters and to see how Asahi would counter it. He watched the blood red spell sail across the arena, crossing the threshold in just under a second. It was a quick spell that did fairly little terms of magic use, but it was a great tool to test reflexes because it was one of the quickest offensive spells in existence.

He watched, dumbfounded, as Asahi simply hit the spell with his katana and then went back to his prior pose, waiting. It was done with the finesse of a Keeper, the speed of a Seeker player, and the accuracy of a Chaser. He squinted and prepared to strike again, wondering how long he could keep the man on the defence, knowing he stood no chance against someone that quick and precise.

There were no taunts, as expected, no sounds of frustration, no sounds of various spells smashing into conjured or summoned objects, no destruction, and no sounds of an audience. The whole area seemed to be washed in some kind of serenity, allowing complete ease and concentration. The sounds of spells being spoken seemed to not exist outside the sphere of the arena.

To Harry, it seemed odd to not taunt his opponent, especially in something like this, but something told him to simply remain quiet and focus. Not only that, but he doubted he could infuriate Asahi without becoming offensive, and that was the last thing he desired.

He watched, mesmerised, as each attack he sent was hit mid-flight, countered with a simple hand wave, or simply disintegrated before it even went halfway across the arena. The worst thing was that Asahi had yet to be offensive, no matter how much he stood and waited, no matter how much he had attacked the men, no attack had come.

He was beginning to tire, having waved his wand nonstop for fifteen minutes in complex patterns. The soles of his feet ached due to the odd points on the rock, and his throat felt drier than it had ever been. He had long since run out of spells to use and was simply weaving them back and forth, going for raw power over any kind of finesse. At this point, his sole goal was to hit the man with something unpredictable.

Up, down, up, left, left, right, down, up, right, down, left, left, feinted right, up then down, down then left, right then down then up.

Nothing he did worked. Everything was countered with inhuman reaction speed, even by wizarding standards. Asahi was far too good at being defensive –

He could have slapped his own forehead and then, with all the disgrace he felt, lobbed himself off the rock to admit defeat. He had been playing into Asahi’s strength all along and never realised it. The man was a walking shield and he would not win by being aggressive as he was. Sadly, the damage was already done and he was exhausted. No matter how he did this from now on, there was a high chance he would not come out as the victor.

He sent out a few quick spells and then held his wand across his chest, as if he was holding a kite shield. His posture screamed everything that was needed to know, which just so happened to be his sole intention of giving away his strategy. He needed Asahi to know that he had realised his mistake.

He realised, almost instantly, that his change from aggression to defensive was a good when one his opponent also changed their stance, quicker than he anticipated. He was hoping the stance change would throw Asahi off his guard and would allow him a quick strike from a defensive stance, something most people wouldn’t even think of.

Before he could formulate a plan of defence, two thin lines of fire, about as thin as the blade, come towards him quicker than he anticipated. The force of the impact almost threw him off the small rock. He only just managed a shield for the right, as another slash of fire seemed to come from that direction and easily managed the one from the left.

Once he learned Asahi’s patterns, it seemed trivial to defend against him. If Tom Riddle taught him anything, it was that all spells had patterns and switching them around would either weaken them or cause undesired effects.

Of course, he was thrown off the rock not even ten seconds later by what appeared to be a spell that looked like a fireball of cherry blossom leaves.

It was pretty, being honest.

“Well done!” said Asahi, stepping off the stone. “Not many would last beyond the initial attack – unclench your hands, child, you were not defeated this day.”

Harry unclenched his hands, tucked his wand back into his sleeve, and stood, wiping sand off his clothes. He adopted a calm facial expression, taking a few deep breathes as he did so. In his peripheral vision, he saw a few people clapping and whispering happily to each other.

“I’m sorry,” he said, bowing his head. “I didn’t mean to get angry, but when I realised the mistake I made…”

“The Sakura spell, pretty easy to understand what it does and where it comes from, often catches people off-guard,” said Asahi. “It was the first spell that knocked me off the very same rock, as well. It’s oddly fitting history should repeat.”

“What does the spell do?” said Harry, blinking excitedly. “It just kinda... happened.”

“This thirst for knowledge you have is highly unusual,” said Asahi, “but I shall explain the Sakura Spell. The actual blast from the spell is not the threat, it is the petals that hover around innocently that are the main issue. You cast the spell in two parts, like so…”

* * *

Harry left shortly after his little battle with Asahi, who had royally trumped him. He spoke to a few people who had been watching, using said man as a translator, and learned that there was so much he was missing by not expanding his horizons to the wider world. He was shocked to learn that the magical part of the United Kingdom was quite behind on most things. Granted, they _somehow_ had the best operating Ministry in the entire world, with China second, South Korea third, and Brazil in fourth. However, everything else was slowly crumbling down the created lists.

The average power level of witches and wizards? Almost at the bottom, with Dumbledore and Voldemort bringing the entire country up the list by being powerhouses. The average wealth of the country? Most witches and wizards were poor and bordering on bankruptcy, barely being able to afford their homes. The tourist rate? Hardly anyone came to the United Kingdom anymore, even to visit Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, or any other attractions.

The list went on and on, placing the United Kingdom in a bad place wherever it went. It seemed like the only thing keeping the magical side of the country was the Ministry, which was such an odd concept, especially considering how flawed it was. Still, he was oddly thankful for the Ministry and keeping the country relevant, but this something he would aim to address in the future. His home country would not be impoverished, lacking in magical ability, or laughed at for being _bad_.

Aside from that, he learned that the art Japanese witches and wizards trained with was called Hissatsu. It pulled from almost all aspects of Japanese martial arts. Karate and the fighting style that samurai used. It was not an easy style to learn and was on the decline due to it taking anywhere from twenty to forty years of continuous learning to reach medium levels. It was described as being arduous, which made sense.

The only person to ever achieve mastery of Hissatsu in a short period was the current ruler of Japan, who was thirty-two and looked sixteen. He was claimed to be immortal and was unbeaten in any duel, whether honorary duel or to death. He usurped the previous ruler with a technique that took almost four decades to learn and use without killing yourself.

He honestly believed most of the stories simple exaggerations, but the people of Japan simply worshipped this ruler due to his talent with a blade, the ability to channel magic, and his charming personality. They simply believed him a God and refused to debate or question it.

Granted, he was quite annoyed because he had just been told that he wouldn’t be able to master Hissatsu like the current ruler did. The Flame would not help, nor would his innate ability at magic. He would need to dedicate half his life to the art to be able to last more than fifteen seconds in a fight.

There was one thing that Asahi said that remained in his mind. He had mentioned how the time in the United Kingdom seemed to jump around. At first, he didn’t understand, then he decided to think about it, noting the previous year and the man was right. Time did seem to jump. He had ideas, but nothing concrete.

‘ _Someone is, or was, using a Time-Turner,_ ’ said Tom, making a sound that sounded like a sigh. ‘ _The person was simply distorting time and space, making the world stop and start to suit their whims. Quite selfish, to be honest. The world would have jumbled a little, events seemingly starting at odd intervals. People would have missed things they had planned because time does not wait for anyone. Think about it, how did the previous year seem_?’

“It seemed jumbled…”

‘ _Precisely_ ,’ said Tom. ‘ _I will be simple. Your morning is simple. You wake up, eat breakfast, then leave. With someone using a Time-Turner, you wake up, then leave, missing breakfast. A lot happened last year that was simply missed because time skipped ahead to catch up from being paused. The person who was using a Time-Turner could have caused events that should not have happened for years. What if an event happened that was critical and needed to be reported or even stopped_?’

Harry sighed, rubbing his head, and continued down the path towards the Quidditch stadium. In around twenty hours, the event would start. Worst case scenario, someone murdered someone and no one knew. There was something odd with how Tom spoke. There was something he was hinting towards.

He continued down the path and paused, glaring at the group of men that looked far too muscular to be confronted. He peered around for an Auror, not seeing any, and lifted his chin upwards, preparing to confront the group of men.


	9. Trespassing

Chapter 9 – **Trespassing**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Harry hastened his steps when he heard what appeared to be a bout of loud and boisterous laughter, which could have only been spurred on by an undercurrent of mischief, mayhem, and underhanded plots to sabotage the Quidditch World Cup. He would not put it past the American wizards to sabotage the World Cup to make the United Kingdom look bad in the eyes of the world. It would not be the first time, nor would it be the last.

The American witches and wizards may laugh, chortle, and snigger however they pleased about how the United Kingdom had a recent Dark Lord, not that they called Voldemort a Dark Lord. To them, he was hardly a threat. They would then lean in, whispering about how Voldemort had caused the near collapse of the United Kingdom’s economy, population, and general strength of witches and wizards. Of course, they said all this with their chins held high, claiming they had never once had any kind of Dark Lord, dark wizard, or terrorist, as they liked to call them, in their country.

It seemed like everyone in America was content to just ignore the fact that Grindelwald had somehow infiltrated the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA, without anyone really knowing. Perhaps they ignored it because it was a British wizard that had brought it all to light.

According to Draco, who had said it without much effort or thought, claimed that he held some kind of animosity towards Americans and how they operated. Of course, he had debated it almost instantly as he had never really been to America, let alone spoken to an American well enough to cast judgement on them and how they acted. The day that he stepped foot onto American soil is the day that he would gladly accept the fact that his friend could claim he detested all Americans on default. In fact, he knew his dislike was based on all their systems and how limiting it was to everyone who was not perfect in their eyes.

However, mostly, it was due to the fact that American witches and wizards called Muggles ‘No-Maj’. What an awful name for the non-magical populace.

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his head of random thoughts as he tried to study the group of men, at least he assumed they were men, that were camped around a little fire they had set up in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch. He circled around, glad that he blended quite well into the grass and darkness of the arena, due to the fact that the lightning, which was the more complicated piece of the arena, had yet to be set up.

As he inched closer, he realised that the group of would-be Americans were not Americans. The accents hinted at that almost instantly. He knew he had not been seen, but that meant very little in terms of the whole situation. As he inched a little closer, he could finally place the accents. They were European, not exactly English speaking as they were not speaking English.

‘I wish they were American,’ he thought, pausing just out of sight. ‘Now there’s going to be some sort of language barrier.’

He took a few steps backwards, realising that he had been so determined on confronting the group of men, he had not really composed his thoughts and made sense of the situation. Every foreign witch or wizard he had spoken to had pretty transparent intentions, all of them obvious and relatively pure in nature. Some, like the Japanese, would use these events to garner information about other countries and how they were progressing in terms of unique abilities and talents, as well as the general strength of the country. However, the group of Europeans looked like they could snap him like a twig, much like Crabbe and Goyle could, only these men were not fat, like said boys, and had far more muscle instead. The man on the far right looked like he could be the long-lost son of Hagrid.

He cleared his throat, hoping the group of men would not take that innocent gesture as an attack and all turn around, firing curses as they did so. However, none of that really happened. Instead, the group of men simply laughed, slapping each other on the back, which looked quite painful, and begun to laugh yet again. He studied the boy who was hit in the back, with squinted eyes like he was struggling to see, and was quite shocked to see the boy did not look like he was in much pain. He cleared his throat once more, hoping that he was actually heard this time around. Judging by the way one of the men stiffened, he was.

“What?”

“What?” repeated Harry, somewhat startled.

“What do you want?” said the man, his accent quite obvious. “You are going to sneak in here, do not you?”

Harry had not seen the man as he snuck around, using the darkness to approach him, but how a man of that size got around without making noise left him nearly speechless. Not that he would admit it, but he nearly jumped higher than the man next to him when he felt that hand touch his shoulder. He was just as surprised that the man sounded reasonably educated in English that he could understand what had been said.

“You can’t be here,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, hoping it would help deter the large man from touching his shoulder again. “This whole area, including the field, is closed off to the public. It should’ve been present on the signs, which you can see from here, and are in almost every language possible.”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” said the man, scratching at his head. He shrugged, turned towards his friends for a split-second, and turned back to face the boy. “This is odd, because they told me we could be here from some employee. Our tent was attacked by some Irish fans and we had no other place to go.”

“A shame,” said Harry, not really listening to the excuse used. It took far more effort in trying to make the sentence structure make sense. “The rules are clear, though. The signs aren’t there for decorative purposes. No one’s allowed near the Quidditch pitch to prevent tampering.”

“I do not understand,” said the man, his bushy brows furrowed, “I will go get Vasily, okay? He can speak better English than I can. You use odd words.”

Harry waited, his arms dropping to his side as he watched the slightly large man jog towards the group of men. It looked like a few words were exchanged, perhaps going over the story as quickly and efficiently as he could. It hardly took long before a much smaller man, still quite large to the average man, stood and walked towards him with what he could tell was a grin.

“Yes?” the man said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, how rude of me, I’m Vasily. It is a pleasure to meet you…?”

“Harry,” said Harry, unamused, “Harry Potter.”

“Ah,” said Vasily, his eyes darting to the man next to him, “well, Harry, I would like to know what’s troubling you. I wasn’t given much to go off of.”

“You’re not allowed to be here,” said Harry, gesturing around the Quidditch pitch. “It’s off-limits. Forbidden. You’re gonna have to move elsewhere.”

“I see,” said Vasily. “And why aren’t we allowed to be here?”

“To prevent tampering.”

“Even you?”

“What?”

“If no one is allowed to be here, as you have said, then explain why you’re here,” said Vasily, his light blue eyes narrowing instantly. “Are you the sole exception to that rule? A mere nine-year-old boy is the _only_ person allowed on the Quidditch pitch? I doubt the rule excludes you.”

“No –”

“Yet you act like you’re above them,” said Vasily. “So, Harry, why are you here?”

“It was quicker for me to confront you instead of going to get someone to deal with it,” said Harry, nodding. “I don’t think that I’m above the rules, and I wouldn’t’ve came here if I hadn’t seen your smoke and heard your laughter.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Vasily, giving the man next to him a pointed look. “But, honestly, what makes you think a young child like yourself would stand a chance against seven people? If they were planning to sabotage the event, they wouldn’t throw out Ticking Charms, would they?”

“Young?” said Harry, his mouth staying open for a second before he closed it with an annoyed frown appearing on his face straight after. “I’m fourteen. Well, actually, almost fourteen!”

“Almost!”

“Close enough to it, yeah,” said Harry, frowning. “But I’m not as young as you think.”

“Must just be the light,” said Vasily, shrugging. “Maybe it could be due to your face shape and general size. You’re not short, but you’re not tall, either.”

“I’m not here to debate my age.”

“Alright,” said Vasily, laughing. “I forgot, okay? You’re here to explain why you’re breaking into the Quidditch pitch.”

“We’ve been over this,” said Harry, sighing. “How about, instead of going in circles, we talk about the fact that you’re camping on the Quidditch pitch for an event that’s so large and needs to go smoothly or there’d be an uproar. Why’s no one batting an eye about this, screaming that you all need to leave?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Of course,” said Harry, turning around to glance up at the sky, which had a spell to imitate twinkling stars. “You should’ve been sent right to your countries main tent. I’ve heard enough about this whole event to know if you camped here, your country _needed_ to have an embassy present, which is where anyone who needed help would go. At no point should’ve a Ministry representative sent you _here_ , especially not under such dire circumstances where your country should be the one to aid you. It makes no sense at all.”

“You’re telling me,” said Vasily. “It was bought it, up. When the person insisted we come here, we all questioned it as our tent is quite secure.”

“What?”

“Something is off about this event,” said Vasily, sighing. “I had my suspicions from the moment I came here that something weird was happening, but I just couldn’t place it. You don’t enter my profession and not develop the ability to learn when something bad is going to happen. My stomach is churning, which means it’s telling me something bad is going to happen. I’m not sure about you, but I trust my stomach.”

“You’re an Auror?” said Harry, surprised. “You don’t look like one.”

“An Auror?” said Vasily, blinking a few times before he started to laugh quite loudly. His laughs slowly turned into wheezes as he slapped his knee, stuttering something out in a different language for the much taller man next to him, who was also smiling and trying not to laugh. “Wait a moment, you’re actually serious? _Wow_. I’ve never been called an Auror before. I’m not too sure how to react.”

Harry glared at the boy.

“You are far too small to be one of them Aurors, anyway,” said the taller man. “Not big enough.”

“You have no idea who we are, do you?” said Vasily. “I’m so shocked and, well, and shocked! I thought you were just playing dumb.”

“Excuse me?” snapped Harry. “I wasn’t, and I quote, ‘Playing dumb’ at all. How am I meant to know who you are? You have a serious case of self-importance.”

“ _Me_?”

“Well, he was not speaking to me.”

“All of you!” said Harry, throwing his hands up. “You’re all… odd.”

“I see…”

Harry watched – or more like listened – as the two men started to speak in a language he was almost certain was Bulgarian. He was not as gifted as Draco was with languages, accents, and geography as a whole. He knew that his best friend would have known from the first word spoken to him where the two men were from, their native language, and whether they could speak English or not. It was a talent he envied and wished he held.

“What?” he said, realising the two men were waiting for something. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked if you had any interest in Quidditch at all,” said Vasily, shrugging. He gestured towards the log where the five other men sat, laughing. “Come and join us for a little bit. I’m sure none of them would mind terribly. However, they’re about as good with English as my friend here.”

“Right,” muttered Harry, his eyes moving towards the group of men, who were no longer laughing and joking around, for a few seconds. “I guess it won’t hurt if I joined the party for a bit.”

“Excellent!” said the taller man, rather loudly, as he slapped the much smaller boy in the middle of the back, sending the boy stumbling forwards a few paces. He easily righted the boy, giving him an apologetic look. “Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” said Harry, coughing slightly. “Hardly hurt a bit.”

The taller man simply nodded and begun walking towards the group of five other men.

“I’ll introduce you in a moment,” said Vasily, grabbing the arm of the boy. “You don’t seem like the type, but I’m going to need your word that you’ll not have a meltdown.”

“There’s that self-importance rearing its head again.”

“I’m serious,” said Vasily. “I know you think my head is bigger than this Quidditch pitch, but seriously, Harry, promise me you won’t have a panic attack or whatever you people do.”

“What do you mean by, ‘You people’?”

“Ugh!”

“Don’t get huffy at me ‘cos you’re being an egoist,” said Harry, jogging after his new found friend. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about, Vasily.”

“I think this will work,” said Vasily, speaking to himself. “You don’t seem like the type to have a mental breakdown, overreact, or start screaming.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Shush,” said Vasily, smiling. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone. Feel free to sit wherever you want.”

Harry allowed Vasily to get a few steps ahead of him so he could better study the five men he had yet to meet or speak to. He fully expected to be greeted in a foreign language, to have to deal with hard to decipher accents, and a few stares at Vasily so he could translate those hard words that do not cross into other languages. Of course, he was hardly concerned about starting a group conversation where he would not be able to understand six out of seven people.

He sat down, quite slowly, onto a bench, which looked like someone had dragged the trunk of a tree across the pitch and dropped it wherever the person carrying it got tired. He studied the men, who looked quite a bit older than Vasily and the man he met earlier, which surprised him. However, all of them mostly had their heads bowed or were facing away from him, obscuring their faces. He turned his head, studying Vasily as he dropped onto the log next to him, speaking another language, which caused the other men to perk up.

“What’d you say?” he asked, curious. “They all became alive at it. Almost assumed it was a spell to animate them.”

“Nothing too extreme,” said Vasily. “Right, now pay attention because I’m introducing them only once. Got it?”

“Yessir,” said Harry, saluting in an overenthusiastic manner. He smiled when he heard someone snort.

“Don’t encourage him!” barked Vasily, glaring. He said something in a different language and turned to the boy. “They’re curious if you like Quidditch. I’m not asking again, honestly.”

“I swear I answered that…” muttered Harry, trailing off as he tilted his head slightly. “I don’t really care about Quidditch, honestly. I was on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, being the youngest Seeker in a century before Longbottom decided to usurp me and attempt to take the title from me. Ever since, I never really enjoyed it. I’m the Captain for the team now, but I no longer play.”

“Who is this ‘Longbottom’?” asked a man, who prodded the fire with a long stick. “What a funny name!”

Harry gaped for a moment, surprised. He debated the possibility that the man was joking around before he would burst out in laughter, screeching that he was messing around and he knew exactly who the boy was. However, glancing from the man to the other people, he realised that he was not being pranked.

“Longbottom,” he said, blinking slowly as he debated on how he would explain this in terms they would understand. “The Boy-Who-Lived, Defeated of Lord Voldemort, took a Killing Curse to the face and lived to tell the tale, usurper of fame anyone else may achieve...”

“No idea,” said Vasily, shrugging. “You British are quite secluded about everything. Although, Lord Voldemort rings a bell.”

“Dark Lord,” said the other boy. “Voldemort did what Grindelwald could not.”

“Enough of that topic,” said Vasily, gesturing towards someone with a long ponytail. “That’s Clara Ivanova.”

“Greetings,” said Clara, her lips shifting into a smile. “I was hoping to introduce myself, but Vas seemed to have taken over.”

“Who cares, Clara,” said Vasily, snorting. “That man right there is Alexei Levski.”

Alexei simply grunted.

“And those two are Ivan Volkov and Pyotr Vulchanov,” said Vasily, pointing at the two men who looked similar. “Not related, if you’re curious. They’re just so similar.”

“I see…”

“Then you have Lev Zograf,” said Vasily pointing to the largest men out of the group. He twisted and looked at the last person to be introduced. “And here is the youngest of us all, Viktor Krum. Any of those names ring a bell?”

“Not really, no,” said Harry, shrugging. “It’s nice to meet you all, though.”

“He is not joking,” said Clara, her eyes shining in amusement. “He is clueless!”

“Wait, I thought you said only you could speak English?” muttered Harry, confused. “You lied!”

“I lied,” said Vasily. “Do you want to know who we even are?”

“You just introduced yourselves,” said Harry. “Clara is the only female, has a smallish build, has a ponytail that’s longer than I am tall, and already thinks I’m a stray child. Ivan and Pyotr are so similar looking they look like identical twins, even boasting the same exact eye colour and general build. Lev looks like a walking giant, one who could snap my neck in half with his pinky. Krum is about the same, but not as big.”

“And me?”

“You look like you fell over and smashed your face against a tree – hey!”

“That’s mean,” said Vasily, making a noise that sounded like a mother that saw her child do something childish. “You shouldn’t be mean to your friends.”

“None of us are friends with you.”

“Don’t you start, Clara.”

“I don’t start things,” muttered Clara, standing, “I finish them.”

“Blah, blah – oi!”

“Nice to see you can moan in English,” said Clara, laughing. “He’s our punching bag and general English tutor. We can all speak little bits, as we mostly spend our time in English-speaking countries –”

“That and it’s taught in Durmstrang,” said Vasily. “Stop glaring at me. He already said he goes to Hogwarts, which means he’s heard of Durmstrang.”

“I was getting there, you utter waste of oxygen,” said Clara, still glaring. “I _would_ yell at him in German, my language of choice, but he doesn’t understand it.”

“I’m sorry, Miss I Can Speak Five Languages – stop throwing things at me!”

Harry watched the group of people as they joked around, traded small banter, and made obvious jokes in different languages. He had not seen the girl, so he had assumed it had been a group of young men that were misbehaving, but the more time he spent with them, the obvious it came that they had no idea what was going on. He glanced back towards Clara, who had just whipped the large man with her ponytail, which caused a serious bout of laughter.

“So,” he said, looking towards Vasily, who had leant back and was simply watching, “are you into Quidditch.”

“Nah,” said Vasily, shrugging his shoulders. “I find it tedious. I wish I could go back to school Quidditch, though.”

“You still play?”

“Sure do,” said Vasily. “We all do. Pretty good, too.”

“Who’s the Seeker?” said Harry, looking for the smallest person. “Clara?”

“Not even close.”

“You?” said Harry, pointing at Vasily. “You’re the smallest except for Clara.”

“Being small doesn’t mean you’d be a good Seeker,” said Vasily, sighing dramatically. “I’ll save you the hassle, Harry. I’m a Chaser, as is Clara and Alexei. Ivan and Pyotr are beaters. Lev, the mountain, is the Keeper. Viktor is the Seeker, and a pretty good one, at that.”

“Where’s my praise, Vas?”

“Saying that you’re a Chaser and not a substitute.”

“I can’t take anymore,” shouted Lev, his voice echoing through the Quidditch pitch. “Y-you stupid boy! We are the Bulgarian Quidditch team! Our faces are _everywhere_!”

“What?”

“Ach, ich geb’s auf!”

“Clara,” said Vasily, softly, “none of us can speak German.”

“I _hate_ all of you, except for you, of course, Viktor.”

“I love you, too, Claire-bear,” said Vasily, blowing a kiss to the girl. “As for you, Harry, I am shocked and quite offended you were actually stumped on who we were. You know, Viktor is pretty much a wizarding world icon, seeing as he’s on a professional Quidditch team at the age of seventeen.”

“It was unheard of,” said Clara. “We were quite suspicious when he was placed on us.”

“How?”

“The coach simply just said, ‘Here’s your new Seeker, treat him well’ and that’s it,” said Clara, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “No introduction, backstory, your statistics…”

“The only information we got was that he was _still_ attending Durmstrang,” said Alexei. “That just made us treat him even worse.”

“Why?” asked Harry, confused. “Wouldn’t that just make everything even better? I mean, his skill must’ve been intense at that age.”

“Because Quidditch at Durmstrang is pretty much like an eleven-year-old kid riding a broom for the first time,” said Vasily, shrugging. “Quidditch at Durmstrang is, like, baby stuff now that I look back, even the super serious tournaments.”

“How so?”

“Well, for us Chasers, the Quaffle isn’t as easy to grip as it was back in Durmstrang,” said Clara, scratching her cheek as she spoke. “It feels a lot heavier, too.”

“The brooms are also faster than the ones at Durmstrang, which had their speed and acceleration capped by around fifty to sixty percent.”

“Hm,” said Harry, rubbing his chin as he thought back to the brooms and equipment at Hogwarts, which did seem slower than his own broom back at Potter Estate and the brooms at Malfoy Manor. “I’ve not actually _seen_ and professional Quidditch games to say whether it’s like that at Hogwarts, too. I assume it is.”

“Mhm,” said Vasily, humming slightly afterwards, his gaze slowly lifting towards the sky. “I don’t doubt it, though. At Durmstrang, there was a rule that stopped anyone under the age of thirteen bringing their own broom. Some say that it was to prevent cheating –”

“It was.”

“– but I doubt it,” said Vasily, acting as if Clara had not even spoken. “They added spells onto the brooms to lower speeds, add some safety measures, and then add a charm to increase grip. Makes it a tad boring, but the youth are the future.”

“Way to sound cheery,” said Clara, pouting. “I want kids of my own one day…”

“So we’ve heard.”

“Don’t be angry you’re not in mine, Ivan, and Pyotr’s love triangle.”

“Geh!” said Pyotr, tilting his head comically. “We two have never spoken.”

“I’m certain we have,” said Clara, sending the man a mock glare from her position on the log. “Du bist ein Rindvieh!”

“You go to Hogwarts, yes?” said Viktor, steering the conversation away from dangerous grounds. “How is your school?”

“It’s nice.”

“A bit more detail than that, Harry,” said Vasily, snorting. “You attend one of the greatest schools in the world, according to the representative sent to us.”

“Hogwarts is the type of building you’d imagine when you heard about magic,” said Harry, giving a fond smile. “It’s a large castle, one that towers over everything in sight, making it seem much larger than it really is. As a castle, it has a lot of unused rooms, hidden corridors, statues, random tapestries, and everything else you’d come to expect from a castle. The only thing that ruins the school is the professors and their lack of understanding and quarantining the students from more diverse branches of magic. The school itself radiates magic, though.”

“All that and you still sound bored,” said Viktor. “You like the magic, not the school.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” said Harry, pausing for a little before he shrugged. “I’m not against the school, just the way it’s ran. It’ll always be my home away from home, though. I can’t hate that building that simply spreads warmth as you walk through its corridors.”

“What about the Quidditch?”

“Quite competitive and the team that takes the Quidditch Cup usually wins the House Cup,” said Harry. “So everyone is quite serious about it, even those that don’t really play.”

“Fascinating,” said Viktor. “Would you care for a quick one on one? I have yet to practice.”

“I’ve not ridden a broom in, well, years,” said Harry, turning his head towards Viktor with a wide smile. “Even if I _had_ ridden one, I doubt I’d be able to best you in a one on one Seeker game. You’re on a professional Quidditch team, I’m merely a Quidditch Captain in a school that is filled with talentless players who’ll never reach professional Quidditch.”

“Not even for the bragging rights?”

Harry simply raised his eyebrows and gently placed his right arm on his leg, manoeuvring his palm to his chin.

“I see…”

“What’s wrong, Viktor?” said Clara, fluttering her eyelashes at him. She said something in a different language and then turned to the youngest boy there. “He’s not used to being seen through like that, especially not by someone so young.”

“Hng?”

“He was seeing if you would accept the challenge, being overconfident,” said Vasily. “Most people would, even for some small bragging rights to say that they had faced off against the legendary Viktor Krum. We’re not really about testing people, but he wanted to –”

“Shut it, Vasily,” said Viktor, his gaze locking onto the boy he was speaking to. “I wanted to see if he would accept the challenge or not. There was no covert message or secret thought behind him. I’m just bored and have to practice.”

“I see you’ve been neglecting your English lessons, Viktor,” said Clara, giggling. “That whole sentence was quite awful. You’re still stopping in random places.”

“Okay.”

“‘Okay’?” repeated Lev, somewhat confused by the short response to something serious. “You know the conditions that Karkaroff set for you. If you fall behind in English, in the slightest, you’re off the team and we _need_ you.”

“Съжалявам за това, че съм такъв егоист.”

“You’re not being selfish, Viktor,” said Clara, standing up. She quickly moved to the man and wrapped him in a tight hug. “We’re getting there, you know.”

Harry realised that all of them were speaking in English for Viktor Krum, not him. He shook his head as the sense of it made him feel quite stupid. They all spoke it at a level that made them understandable, but they still made a few mistakes with words, contractions, and other things that were hardly a concern when actually speaking the language. He did debate about offering some kind of lessons for the older boy, but there was a slim chance that the two of them would ever see each other again.

“You’re not doing that bad,” he said, smiling at Viktor. “In fact, you’re better than this idiot at Hogwarts that’s in my year. He can barely string a complete sentence together without drooling.”

“That’s not nice.”

“I’m not a nice person,” said Harry, looking at Alexei with an amused smirk. “Are you shocked?”

“Not at all,” said Alexei, laughing. “I would be upset if you weren’t mean and nasty. You would have fit in at Durmstrang.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Clara. “I was a perfect student.”

“Coming from the one person here who had her own little gang,” said Alexei, listing more things off his fingers. “And let’s not forget the fact you bullied _everyone_ from your dormitory in your last year so you could have it to yourself.”

“Ask any of the professors,” said Clara, sniffing. “I was the perfect student and never stepped a single toe out of line.”

“Because you blackmailed everyone into remaining quiet –”

“Perfect student!” shouted Clara, laughing afterwards. “Stop slandering me!”

“ _Slander_!”

“It is,” said Clara, glaring. “It’s even worse, seeing as you were the one who was caught sucking –”

Lev shouted, cutting off whatever Clara was going to say and then glared at the girl, pointing towards the young boy, who seemed somewhat oblivious to what was going to be said. He cleared his throat, glaring at all of them.

“Lev’s right,” said Clara. “None of us were innocent and that’s why we’re good together.”

“ _Accio_ training brooms!”

“Viktor!”

“Why are you casting spells?”

Harry ducked as a bunch of brooms flew over his head, missing it by mere inches. He blinked, somewhat dazed, as Viktor caught them who bundle and tossed them out to his friends, who caught them with the same confused expression he was wearing himself. He turned back to study the man, confused on what he was really doing, which is when it came to him that Viktor had cast that with no wand.

“You summoned them wandless!” he said, excited. “You used wandless magic! That’s incredible!”

“What?” said Viktor, confused. “I do this all the time.”

“Viktor doesn’t believe his gift with wandless magic is special.”

Harry blinked, his mouth part way open as multiple questions flickered through his mind at once, all trying to get out at the same time. The instant he managed to filter the questions, his mind focusing on the important question, he realised that Viktor had already shrugged, mounted his broom, saluted at his team, and took off, blowing out the fire with the force of it.

“Jesus!” he said, wiping soot off his face. “He’s quicker than I thought.”

“He sure is,” said Clara, picking up a broom. “He has the build of a Beater but the speed of a Seeker. He’s just Viktor, I guess.”

Harry watched as the rest of them mounted the brooms, which looked quite old, and then took off into the sky. He was quite confused on what he was to do until Alexei stopped near him, tossed him a broom, and took off, his laughter echoing in the empty stadium. He sighed, looked at the broom like it would bite him, then mounted it, praying silently that this broom better have the correct charms and not fall apart while he was in the air. It would be just his luck if it did do that, honestly.

“Come on, Harry!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so, so sorry that this chapter took so long to be published. It went through multiple rewrites, my own mind just never sated enough for it to be published. I dislike filler chapters and this is exactly what it is. However, my schoolwork picked up, making me have to do three books in three weeks due to the error of the teacher. No excuses, though. Had I wrote my standard of 500-1000 words per day, it would have been out ages ago. Of course, the good news is that the narrative of this chapter is a lot better. I hope you noticed.
> 
> This chapter features my usual backhanded remarks/references to obvious clichés. I hope you found some of them. I also hope you like Krum’s character as he’s a bit better in my fic instead of canon.
> 
> P.S: Sorry for no breaks in the chapter. It's just one long scene. ~_~


	10. Father and Son

Chapter 10 – **Father and Son**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

Harry slowly shifted the broom between his legs, his eyes locking onto the form of Clara as she slowly, at least slower than Viktor, vanished into the sky. He continued to study the girl for a while, knowing she was far more talented than he would ever be. The worst thing about the whole ordeal was that the girl was hardly trying to be showy, but she appeared to just be that. Elegant and graceful, even when she was obviously not that type of person. It was quite quaint.

Shaking his head, at least the mental equivalent, he pushed off the ground and hovered slightly, much like a young child learning to fly for the very first time. The tips of his shoes brushed against the soft grass of the Quidditch pitch, his eyes locking onto the various seats, light fixtures, and a flickering board that was attempting to display an advertisement.

“Hey! You!”

Harry mentally fought his urge to twist around and face the man, which it had to be as it was quite a deep voice. If he turned, his face would be revealed and then he would be tracked down and thrown into the Ministry holding cells, which he desired to avoid at all costs. He instantly thought about Robin, the man who had taken the consequences for someone he never knew. Oh, how he hated that man. He knew that no one would take him seriously, as did Robin, and that any attempts to jump on a table, screaming for the innocence of Robin Banks, would go ignored, even if he was chugging a phial of Veritaserum, which he would not do for obvious reasons.

“Stop!”

Harry paused for a moment, knowing he had not really done anything wrong and could easily signal Viktor back to explain the situation, but there was no fun in that. He gripped the broom tightly, lifting his legs up slightly, hooking them together and gently lifting himself upwards, doing it slowly so that the man behind him would truly panic and think he was about to flee at any moment. He was going to flee, of course, not wanting to stay around a crazed man who was shouting, drawing attention to his presence. He was just about to lift off completely when a dark blue spell sailed right by his right side, smashing into the ground. He watched as it tore the grass up, spraying the pristine grass all over the pitch.

“I said stop!”

Harry rolled his eyes at the whiny voice, his whole mind just shutting down and telling him to laugh at the man, who had missed his only opportunity to get him off a broom by being careless. He lifted his left hand, using his right to steady himself, and gave a little wave, knowing it would infuriate the man. Before his left hand had even touched his broom again, he shot off into the sky, his eyes searching for Clara, who would have stopped when he had not followed.

He searched a little before he spotted the girl, who was sitting on her broom, almost casually, with a small ball of fire darting around her hand.

“Took you long enough,” said Clara, a large smile on her face as she dropped the fireball below her. “Have some pre-flight nerves?”

“No,” said Harry, scowling. “Some idiotic man attacked me as I was preparing to take off. He came out of nowhere, waving his wand and throwing curses!”

“Oh, you poor baby.”

“Don’t laugh,” said Harry, trying to glare. “It was traumatising.”

“Oh, yes,” said Clara, stifling a laugh. “I’m sure the big bad man, waving a wand around helplessly, was enough to scare you for life. I’m certain you will need years and years of therapy just to start to clear up this traumatising situation. Your mental state must be torn asunder.”

“Hmph.”

“No need to be so offended,” said Clara. “You remind me of my friend’s younger sister, who earned the nickname princess because she acted like one. Princess Potter. It has a good ring to it, no?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“One, I refuse to put ‘princess’ into any kind of title for myself,” said Harry, holding up a finger. “Two, it’s not as menacing as it _could_ be. A nickname for me should be very well menacing. Strike fear into those that hear it, I guess.”

“I see,” said Clara, hovering gently. “Perhaps Rettop.”

“Rettop?” said Harry, frowning. “What does that mean?”

“That’s your surname backwards!” said Clara. “Quite clever, I know.”

“That is…”

“Yes?” said Clara, tapping her broom. “Dramatic pauses in a private conversation are not on!”

“…the worst name I have ever head,” said Harry, scratching his forehead. “I’m a tad more creative than that, you know.”

“I thought it was good,” muttered Clara. “No one would think of it, and it’s simple.”

“I said menacing, not some teenager trying to sound cool and creative,” said Harry. “Eventually, someone would look at it backwards and see it as my surname, which defeats the point of a nickname or alias. It should have a point, be menacing, but not in a bad way.”

“There’s a good definition menacing?”

“Well,” said Harry, scratching his head, “not really –”

“Then why aim for a menacing name?” said Clara. “It doesn’t make much sense, even to me.”

“The name needs to be threatening,” said Harry, shrugging slightly. “I don’t mean that it should be threatening in the sense that, ‘If you don’t do this, I’ll declare war!’ but more in the sense of, ‘I’m better than you.’ ”

“So, like a king?”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “Like, I don’t know, a king of kings – that’s perfect. I could be known as the King of Kings.”

“That just sounds odd,” said Clara, frowning. “How can you be a king of kings?”

“I dunno.”

“Wow,” muttered Clara, clutching her heart. “I didn’t know you actually spoke like a real person. For a bit, I assumed you were a walking nobleman that never used such… peasant words!”

Harry rolled his eyes, clutching the broom tightly. He wondered whether the girl was joking or actually serious, knowing he spoke in some kind of odd way, which was described as being somewhat holier-than-thou. It could simply be a joke, but he was unsure.

“Sure,” he said. “You’ve only known me for, what, twenty minutes?”

“Enough time to understand your speech patterns,” said Clara. “Now, we’ve wasted enough time, I think it’s about time we participated in this race.”

“You’re in a race?”

“I’m certain I said that we’ve wasted enough time,” said Clara. “We are in a race, yes.”

“We’re, like, five minutes behind them!”

“And?” muttered Clara, smiling. “They need the head start on me. We all know it, hence why I was tasked with staying here and waiting for our new inexperienced friend.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” said Harry, tilting his head in confusion. “I mean, it _should_. Being the one to lose a race while you wait for a potential newbie to fly next to you, you’re set up to lose the race from the moment it started.”

“Why would it?”

“You’re going to lose, which is –”

“It’s not a competition,” said Clara, frowning. “Even if it was, I would still win as I’m the fastest out of us all. During training, by the time they have done one lap, I have done three and a half.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Harry, shrugging slightly as he thought of something that he could say, “that’s impressive.”

“Hardly,” said Clara. “I’m a Chaser, I _need_ to be fast.”

“I always assumed that it was the Seekers who should be fast,” said Harry. “Perhaps the Seekers and the Keepers.”

“Chasers are the most active role,” said Clara. “We’re always moving, always chasing after something, always trying to score. It makes sense that we have to be the fastest when we’re going for constant play. The Seeker must only be fast when he spots the Snitch, the Keeper when he needs to defend.”

“Curious,” said Harry, slowly following after the girl. “I never thought of it like that. Guess I’ll have to think up some new strategies that focus on the Chaser, not the Seeker.”

“Play to the strength of each person,” said Clara. “It’s what we do as a team and it works. Ask the guys after the game, just in case they think you’ll sell our secrets, but I doubt it. Enough chitty-chat, I want to see how _fast_ you are.”

Harry screwed up his face, half opening his face and closing his left eye as he tried to think about what Clara had been implying. Of course, he had no intentions on selling the secrets of the team, knowing that it was quite pointless as, even if he did blab or sell the secrets, the match would start and be over within a day or so, hardly enough time to adapt and plan around a few tactics. Although, you never could tell in the scope of professional Quidditch. He hardly blamed the girl for being secretive, but he did debate that he was pathetic enough to scamper off and sell some tactics for a game between two teams that he hardly cared about, really.

He easily followed behind the girl, making sure that he maintained an average speed, only going faster when he had to, mostly because Clara decided that they were going too slow and decided to push herself and the broom faster. He did not speak, which would not have worked as their words would go unheard due to the rushing sounds of the wind.

‘She must’ve been lying when she said she was fast,’ he thought, easily staying equal with Clara. ‘She’s not done anything too impressive yet and I’m keeping up with her and I was never one for speed.’

He twisted and avoided a pole, which had seemingly come out of nowhere. He glanced downwards and realised that they were somewhat closer to the ground than what they should have been, especially considering they were meant to be trying to not be seen, whether be Aurors or witches and wizards that were there to see the World Cup. It made no sense to him that they would travel through the few scattered tents and random people in an attempt to win a race.

After swerving around a tent, he remembered that Clara was a Chaser. In all his time watching, studying, and playing Quidditch, it was the Chasers that were the ones to take unneeded risks in order to achieve victory, minor or major. They would fly alongside the edge of the Quidditch pitch, grazing the stands, in order to set up a potential goal. It was that realisation that made him understand why she was the fastest in the group. It had nothing to do with mass like some people assumed. It was completely on the fact that she took risks.

He managed to make it out of the small tented area with all limbs attached, no injuries, and no one really spotting him, despite the fact he flew directly over a small campfire and scattered the embers everywhere. He had easily ignored the shouts, mutters of wind picking up, and easily lifted himself into the sky, seeing the silhouette of six quite large men hovering in the sky on brooms. He slowly approached, knowing the saw him, and decided to hover on the side, trying not to interrupt their conversation in their mother tongue.

“Got caught on a pole,” said Clara. “Lucky, else I would have been here before you crossed that campfire – wait, what’s going on?”

Harry did not speak, just looked around, trying to spot whatever caused the alarm for the group, as the words of the girls spurred the other men into action, pointing and speaking quickly. He followed the general pointing, spotting smoke in the distance. It was difficult to determine whether to fire was still burning or had been extinguished, but judging from the reactions of the people near him, it had been their area that had been set on fire.

He followed behind when the group started to fly towards the smoke, which he would have said would be a bad idea, but none of them were speaking English and seemed to forget that he could not speak their language, which seemed to be a mix of German and, from what he assumed, Bulgarian. After a few seconds of flight, he stopped just above a smoking tent, which had people screaming and shouting out the front of it. He wondered whether it was an accident, an attack, or just senseless violence from people that supported the Irish.

“Let’s hope the Bulgarian Minister for Magic doesn’t take this as a declaration of war,” said Harry, muttering under his breath. “I have this feeling that this was no incident concerning an Irish fan. It looks too organised.”

“You think it was an attempted attack?” said Vasily, frowning. “The fire doesn’t seem to be going out, either.”

“I assume the fire was started with dark arts,” said Harry, rubbing his chin. “It’s hard to tell what spell it was, but we can safely rule out Fiendfyre. If it had been that, the entire area would’ve been on fire, including the Quidditch pitch and surrounding forests.”

“That makes sense,” said Vasily, muttering something else under his breath. “If I know our Minister for Magic, he’s going to be very, very mad about this. I assume he’ll even reach the point where he’ll want to cut ties with you British.”

“I wouldn’t blame him, to be honest.”

“Oh?” said Vasily, surprised.

“If I remember right, and I’m sure I do, the whole point of this setup was so that the United Kingdom could showcase how advanced we have become since Lord Voldemort, our previous Dark Lord, fell,” said Harry, blinking a few times. “Security was meant to be as tight as possible, with every single Auror, Enforcer, and even the Elite on guard. The fact someone slipped through the protections, which were strong enough to rival the Ministry, attack the Bulgarian tents twice, spooking people first and then causing terror, has made the whole country look weak.”

“Well,” said Viktor, “I think it may be best if we all go and look…”

* * *

“– doesn’t explain why you were with the Bulgarian Quidditch team and not with your Mother.”

“I was going for a walk,” said Harry, rolling his eyes as he stepped around a woman. “I mean, there was nothing to do back at the tent, and you know that Mother prefers to cook alone and not have anyone looming over her like a pack of starving rats. I’ll admit, I wanted to see what the local traders were selling.”

“That doesn’t explain how you managed to find the Bulgarian Quidditch team,” said James. “No one’s saying anything about it, which is odd as they should’ve been in their tents, not flying around on the Quidditch pitch.”

“I’m not involved in any plots, if that’s what you think.”

“I never said that you were,” said James, pressing his palm into his eye. “I’m trying to figure out how seven professional Quidditch players managed to slip by four different guards, who were at each entrance, hidden, and rotated each hour, without anyone being alerted. It makes no sense that they managed to sneak in, build a makeshift camp, and summon brooms without anyone knowing.”

“There were no guards around when I went to investigate,” said Harry. “Empty, even though the Bulgarians were making quite the ruckus.”

“Odd,” said James, stopping. “Something isn’t right. I don’t understand how four guards just vanished for one or two hours. Where they are is unknown. What they’re doing is unknown. Everything about them is unknown.”

“Didn’t you set some kind of scenario for if a situation like that happened?” said Harry. “You know, where they should go, who they should contact, and how to act.”

“That’s the thing, Harry, there was a scenario for if something went quiet,” said James, gently nudging his son towards a quieter area. “I have – had – everything planned out for if there was any kind of situation. I was _meant_ to know if someone sneezed. Not every Auror is able to cast a Patronus, let alone use Dumbledore’s method of communicating, but those that can’t were meant to be able to let me know in other, less obvious ways.”

“And no one used that method?” said Harry, shifting to lean against a white fence. “D’you think that someone was compromised? One person falling would have the entire communication method known.”

“Could be possible –”

“That or someone blabbed.”

“That’s more likely,” said James. “The main issue is that I need to figure out whether the information was forced out of them or if they gave it willingly, which could be an issue in the long term.”

“Why not make them take an Oath of Silence,” said Harry, lifting his hand in a sign of offering. “I’m sure that would’ve kept them silent on the plans for the World Cup – that or some kind of agreement that was done in writing, not so heavy. Things like this won’t happen if they have their hands tied.”

“Oaths don’t work like that,” said James. “I mean, they do, in a sense, but such a wide scale oath regarding something like that wouldn’t work. They would still be able to pass on information in small amounts, scraping against the agreement to push it. Then, you have things like Legilimency and Veritaserum that can force it out without the oath breaking as it has to be done willingly, both of those aren’t willing.”

“Hn.”

“Unless I wanted them to have some warts on the face for telling,” said James, smiling. “Other than that, it would be a minor inconvenience.”

“It would still hammer it into their mind that you’re serious.”

“I can’t have any of my Aurors fearing me,” said James. “Oaths are only done when you don’t trust someone.”

“It would work, though,” said Harry. “If they’re too afraid to tattle or spread information, it simply won’t be done.”

“Loyalty will always be a stronger foundation than fear,” said James, frowning. “People who fear you are more likely to lead rebellions and instigate situations. It’s the same tactic that You-Know-Who used in the war, which is what caused so many of his Death Eaters to consider defecting. Fear is also what allowed the Ministry to _almost_ fall to him in the first place. He was a wand away from taking control… I won’t let that happen again.”

“I’m not sure if you’re forgetting, but there’s more than one type of fear,” said Harry, rolling his eyes as discreetly as he could manage. “You’ve got to think outside the box and approach the situation from all sides. Fear, according to the few Muggle books of psychology I read, is nothing more than a state of mind that is deception… I think.”

“You ‘think’?”

“Yes,” said Harry, nodding. “It was all very unnecessary, but I got it in the end. There’s torture pain – the kind that our beloved”—he coughed—“Voldemort cherished, using that fear on the base of severe pain if anyone stepped out of line. There’s also psychological pain, which can fall under a fear of failure, a fear of retribution, where they’re afraid of the consequences… Does that make sense?”

“Not really,” said James. “In fact, it makes very little sense, but I know what you’re going for.”

“I see,” said Harry, scratching his head. “Anyway, did you actually ask them to remain quiet on the matter?”

“I spoke to them about the importance of discretion,” said James, mumbling. “They know better to go and spread information about what we’re doing.”

“This whole event is full of gossiping hags –”

“Harry!”

“What?” said Harry, muttering under his breath. “It’s true. D’you know how many people I’ve heard gossiping about stuff they’d heard in passing?”

“Yes, but –”

“It’s relevant,” said Harry. “Let’s just assume that one of the guards mentioned to their wife or husband that they were finally off shift and that, well, someone else was going to take over, and someone heard that _something_ was being guarded, it would make its rounds.”

“Makes sense,” said James. “I told Lily when I was going to do my rounds, as well that I was going to find our wayward son, who was with the Bulgarian Quidditch team, something that I’ll not forget for quite a while.”

“And neither will they,” said Harry, dropping his head to the ground to study his shoes. “The fact you acted like a rabid fan and caused them to look at me like I was your caretaker and you escaped from the Janus Thickey Ward.”

“It’s not every day you meet a famous Quidditch team.”

“Anyway, maybe none of your guards blabbed, but were overheard,” said Harry, looking up. “I’ve heard some pretty interesting things while walking around.”

“Like?” said James, leaning forwards. “I’m curious on what you’ve heard.”

“Gossiping?” said Harry, shocked. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

“Hush and spill what you heard.”

“Well, the most common one was about some woman – Umbridge was her name, I think – in the Ministry that tried to seduce the Minister,” said Harry, stifling a laugh. “Only, she’s drop dead horrid, both personality _and_ looks, and he refused, but she kept trying and he demoted her for misconduct. Of course, some young kid called her ‘Dumbridge’, which is something only a child would even think up, and she lost the plot and was demoted once more. She’s essentially the Ministry’s secretary’s secretary. She calls herself the undersecretary, though.”

“That name seems familiar,” said James. “I don’t really care about any other department, but I heard some of my Aurors complaining about her. Anything else? We may be able to piece together what actually happened.”

“Uh.”

“Come on!” said James, a slight smile on his face. “Use that Slytherin cunning of yours.”

“Well,” said Harry, thinking solemnly, “I did hear quite a few things, but I may just not say because you confused gossiping – a Hufflepuff trait – with Slytherin cunning. Unacceptable.”

“Like that would bother you at all.”

“Well, there was something about Boot’s father – he’s a Ravenclaw boy in my year – being in a scandal,” said Harry. “He was having an affair on his wife, with her brother – quite the story, especially since it came out that’s a shirt-lifter –”

“Can you gossip without the offensive terms for people?”

“No,” said Harry. “I’ll hold this over Boot’s head, as he’s right raving mad and trying to usurp my throne of being the best student. Seeing as his father is a fa –”

“Harry!” said James, covering his son’s mouth. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for you using this over your classmate, despite what your mother might say, even more so because Gerald Boot, the father of your classmate, tried to hit on _me_ …”

Harry’s eyes went wide.

“…which is flattering, don’t get me wrong,” said James, dropping his hand from his son’s mouth, “but it’s no reason to use such vulgar and… and hateful words.”

“Alright, alright,” said Harry. “What else did I overhear…? Oh, that’s right! I also heard that some sixteen-year-old boy got drunk off his parents’ Firewhisky and used the Floo into the Ministry of Magic starkers.”

“I was the one that had to deal with that,” said James. “The lad was completely out of it, like he was hit with a Confundus Charm. He even urinated on the door to the office of Amelia Bones, who is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was far from impressed.”

“ _Why_?”

“Alcohol makes you do some… odd things,” said James. “In my final year at Hogwarts, Sirius, Pettigrew, Remus, and I all got raving drunk and tried to dress the Whomping Willow in a bunch of bowties that we nicked from your mother – she never wore them, anyway. Sirius was the _only_ person to think it was a bad idea, but he went along with it anyway. We kinda sobered up a bit when Remus got thwacked across the chest – by the God’s did he _fly_. Honestly, I want you to stay away from that thing, Harry.”

“I’m not crazy…”

“I’ve never been a big drinker, so I don’t have much else story-wise,” said James. “It does make you do some regretful things. Thankfully, before you go out drinking, you leave or hide your wand. Getting drunk with a wand is a bad idea. Seem people lose fingers, put themselves in St Mungo’s, seriously harm relatives and friends, and even kill themselves trying new, unknown spells.”

“I can understand why that’d be a bad thing,” said Harry. “Although, could make for some great stories.”

“Remus was the one that kept Gryffindor alcohol free,” said James. “Everyone hated him for it, but not as much as he hated alcohol.”

“All but one time.”

“All but one time,” said James, repeating the words of his son. “The one night we managed to get him to lower his ruthless grip on the rule.”

Harry remained quiet for one time, allowing James to gently nudge him from their little area back onto the dirt road and towards where their camp was located. He was quite glad that he had been found, as he had not really been to this area, which was set on a small hill with various rocks and other things to obscure the paths, and was not sure on where he should go to make it back to his mother.

He stopped a few steps after James, who had stopped to aid someone who had a badly burned leg, which looked quite disgusting. He wondered how the man get such a badly burned leg when there was nothing around to do that sort of damage. Of course, that meant one of three things. One, the man was injured while attempting to go into the fire to aid someone. Two, the man was injured while trying to loot things from the burning tent. Three, he was responsible for the burning and was injured during the process.

‘There are two steps I can take regarding this,’ he thought to himself, watching. ‘I can break my own rule about Legilimency, looking into the mind of the injured man or I can simply ask.’

‘ _Do both_ ,’ said Tom. ‘And, _if he lies, you can always tell your… James… and say that you used it on him by accident. Then, to sate his anger, you can say that you learned something about the case that would put the man in a position of the attack and that he was involved. Just state that you did not see everything and that it was hazy. You know enough about Legilimency to know that when someone is afraid about something, their thoughts become confounding and disorganised_.’

Harry agreed with Tom completely, which was no surprise. He would be able to simply play it off as if nothing happened if the man truly was innocent, but he doubted it. The man looked far too sketchy to be innocent. He took a few steps backwards, standing just off to the side of the two people, but in peripheral vision so that the injured man would look up and see who was approaching. It would not take too long for the man to look, in fact, he was certain he could count to five before the man caved in to the urge to look.

‘One…’ he thought, his eyes locking right onto the head of the man. ‘Two… three… four – got you.’

* * *

_“– know I love you, right?”_

_“I do.”_

_“Good,” said the woman, a smile on her face, “because, Bernard, your kids need this.”_

* * *

_“A promotion?” said Bernard, shocked. “Stupid! He’s stupid! He does nothing and you promote him? My kid’s_ dying _!”_

_“I’m sorry, Mr Saphery, but you just didn’t qualify for the position. You’re too hot-headed and impulsive. Perhaps I can offer you more hours to aid with your child?”_

_“More hours means more work, which means more hours that I’m away from my son!”_

_“I truly am sorry.”_

_“Are you?” said Bernard, standing. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve done.”_

* * *

_“So, one of my contacts was tellin’ me that there’s a young man, about the age of twenty, skulking ‘round in Knockturn Alley, looking for some quick and easy Galleons.”_

_“Uhh.”_

_“Is that you or what?”_

_“It is,” said Bernard, gently tugging at his cloak to obscure his face a little more. “I need some quick Galleons. It’s for… for my son.”_

_“I didn’t ask for your life story,” said the man, leaning backwards. “If you want money, you can’t have any scruples. I don’t give a rat’s arse whether you wanna do somethin’ or not. If you want Galleons, you’ll bloody do what I say.”_

_“O-okay,” said Bernard, stuttering slightly as the man lent forwards and stabbed the table with a rusted knife. “What will I need to do?”_

_“You hardly stuttered,” said the man. “You can call me Master Mutilator. I got that name ‘cos I mutilate people who piss me off. Got it?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Yes, what?”_

_“Yes, Master Mutilator.”_

_“Excellent,” said Master Mutilator, his bright blue eyes gleaming. “B’fore we start on the, ahem, work, I want to know a little ‘bout you. Strip.”_

_“Strip?” said Bernard, shocked. “I’m not – I don’t like men.”_

_“And you’re assuming I am?” said Master Mutilator, his eyes narrowing. “I want to check you for anythin’ odd or suspicious. Tattoos, marks, anything to relay this conversation back to the Aurors.”_

_“Tattoos?”_

_“You’d be surprised,” said Master Mutilator. “How d’you think You-Know-Who communicated with his slaves? He simply listened in. It’s possible. Now, hurry it up. We’ve got plenty of stuff to go through an’ it won’t happen if you dawdle.”_

_“But –”_

_“Just take off your bloody clothes!” said Master Mutilator, standing up as he shouted. “Now, unless you bloody well want some issues, you will do as I say, when I say, how I say! Now, don’t make me ask again!”_

* * *

Harry continued to watch the memories, watching as they slowly got worse and worse as the man, Bernard Saphery, slowly got deeper and deeper into modern-day banditry. It felt like he watched hours of memories, watching as the man slowly became more and more depraved as the weeks went by. However, when he broke the connection, barely a few seconds had passed and he heard James, who still seemed ignorant, asking about what the man was looking at.

He realised that, no matter whether he wanted to act on it or not, that he would need to say something and get this man off the proverbial street and into prison, where he belonged. From the few memories he had seen, he needed to be discreet and try and lure James away so that he could explain and make it seem like it was a harmless conversation that did not involve the Head Auror, as the man had no idea who James even was. It all worked in his favour, like a stroke of luck, but it needed to be handled delicately. The man, despite his injuries, would run at the first sign of an Auror.

He thought up a quick idea that he could use, not at all satisfied with how it could pan out. It was far too reliant on James doing what was needed and not messing it up by skipping a beat. It was risky, very, very risky, but it would work to all their favours if James allowed him to speak.

“Uhm, Dad,” he said, mumbling under his breath as he slowly slid towards James. He squinted at the man, seeing a slight smile on his face. “Oh! I’m sorry, didn’t see you there. Are you terribly hurt? I need to talk to my dad about, well, girls. I promise I won’t keep him long, but my girlfriend… she asked for something and, well, I can only be gone for a bit and I really, really need to ask him something.”

“Er,” said James, looking towards his son for a moment before glancing down at the man. “Will you be alright alone for just a second, Mr…?”

“Please, just call me Bernard,” said Bernard. “And, of course! Tend to your son! I’ve got one about the same age. I’ll be just here.”

“Sorry, Mr Bernard,” said Harry, blinking innocently. “I promise it won’t take too long. We’ll just be over there, in eyesight so you can wave if you need anything.”

“Go on, lad!”

Harry led James a nice distance away, making sure to look towards the man with a kind smile. He turned towards James and rested his right hand on his right cheek, half obscuring his mouth and making it impossible to tell if his cheeks were red or not.

“What –”

“He’s guilty,” said Harry, whispering. “I used Legilimency on him and I learned a few things. He set fire to the Bulgarian embassy to create chaos so that his buddies could slip in, loot the tent of priceless artefacts, and then slip out while everyone was distracted. He was held up because someone confronted him and then the second explosion, which was to be the getaway distraction, caught him in the leg as he was lagging behind.”

“You used Legilimency on him?”

“By accident!” said Harry. “That’s the only thing you’re gonna comment on?”

“Because it makes everything you said pointless because you used a forbidden art to get the information,” said James, trying not to look towards the man in question. He sighed and lowered his voice a bit more. “Is there any – I mean, is what he did truly awful? Surely there was a motive.”

“Oh, there was a motive,” said Harry. “The motive was to help his sick child, a child who is dying and will most likely not live to see sixteen – Bernard knows this, hence why he took drastic measures to scrape up the money to pay for more treatment.”

“That’s not bad…”

“He abducted children,” said Harry, folding his arms over his chest. “He lured them away from their parents and then stunned them, handing them over to his employer, who did God knows what to them. Thankfully, from what I saw, them being abducted was the worst of it and it was nothing more sinister. Regardless, how can you sit there and defend a man who mentally tormented children, claiming he killed their siblings and parents in the name of curing one sick boy? Sure, he went into it assuming he would have to sleep with a few desperate people, scraping together Knuts each day until he had enough. He folded after his first cut was eight Galleons and all morals vanished.”

“And how can any of this be proven?” said James. “Having a child’s testimony, claiming Legilimency, will not work as you violated his mind. There’s a reason it isn’t used in trials, Harry.”

“So, you’d rather follow the law then put this filth in Azkaban?” said Harry. “There’s a whole bunch of kids that he traumatised, kids that will never recover, and you’re just going to abide by the law? He’s gonna run the moment he realises who you are, and it won’t take long before someone addresses you as ‘Head Auror Potter’ and then he’ll panic and do something drastic. I spoke to you ‘cos I thought it would help.”

“And I will help,” said James. “It just has to be done – don’t look at me like that! I may be _that_ , but I can’t just click my fingers and make things happen. I still have to follow the law or I’m just as bad as all the previous Aurors. Don’t you understand?”

“No,” snapped Harry. “I don’t understand because all you need to do is stun him, take him to the Ministry, then shove Veritaserum down his throat and everything will flow out of his mouth. The longer you prolong it, the easier it will be for his friends to silence him.”

“I will handle it,” said James. “Go and find your mother and tell her I will be back late.”

Harry stared at James for a while, his arms dropping to his sides as the corner of his eye twitched. He took a step back, gazed at the man, and twisted to walk away. He easily dodged the hand James put out to grab him and stopped a few steps away.

“God, I really hate you at times,” he shouted at James before turning to the other man, his face filling with anger. “The man helping you is the Head Auror, your son will die regardless of what you do, and the man you sold your soul to put you here on purpose because you were becoming a liability. Enjoy your final few years alive, because you’re gonna rot in Azkaban and _no one_ will offer you any sympathy.”

“What?” said Bernard, his eyes going wide. “ _What_!”

Harry started to run before anything else could be said. He heard James swear, quite loudly, then the sounds of the Stunning Spell being cast, and finally a body hitting the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hold too much against James, at least until next chapter where more is explained.
> 
> P.S: If you've seen the FB trailer, none of that is canon here. Lmao. Not for me, I'm sorry. It would be too weird.
> 
> P.S.S: Sorry it was a week late. Life, my birthday, and random internet outages.


	11. The Master Mutilator

Chapter 11 – **The Master Mutilator**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

\--

Harry continued to walk away from James and Bernard as if nothing had occurred, despite something eating away at him to stop, turn around, and go back and see what was going on. He was intent on ignoring the commotion behind him, making it seem like he was disinterested in the whole ordeal. He paused at a corner, still in hearing distance, and decided to see listen in and see how James would handle the situation. Yes, he felt a little bad about ruining everything in his impulsive rage to see everything James did crack and falter, making the man know not everything would strengthen instantly for him.

He listened as chatter begun, starting as angry whispers before finishing on furious shouting. He listened to the shouts, which seemed to come from three different sounding voices. He recognised all three of them. One was James, the second was Bernard, and the third was the Master Mutilator. He listened to the cursing, both spell and verbal, and then braced himself against a pole, feeling the ground shake under his feet.

He paused, his mouth slightly open in surprise, and clutched onto the pole that he had been leaning onto. He blinked a few times, his cheeks a slight tone of pink, as he twisted his foot into the ground to attempt to strengthen his standing position.

‘A spell to imitate an earthquake?’ he thought, quite confused and highly suspicious. ‘I’m curious whether the spell was designed to do damage to buildings or just cause the ground to shake to cause enemies to trip and stumble. Both seem viable, but the former seems like it would be more common, especially in wartime, and nothing of it has ever been mentioned in any book I’ve read.’

He took a few steps forward, his mind whirling at the sheer possibilities of who had cast the spell, stumbling over small bits of debris in the process. He slowly got closer and closer, a short few steps from truly revealing who had cast the spell. It was either Bernard or the Master Mutilator, that he was sure, mainly because he knew James would never cast a spell so destructive and blatantly forbidden. James was the type of person that abided by the Auror Code of Conduct like it was the bible handed to him by God himself.

“– and that was a mere inch – a mere _taste_ – of the wells of power I have thrumming inside of my body,” said the Master Mutilator. “I spent years – wait, no, decades – studying the long-lost arts of the ancient magic. I mastered the art of Geomancy, that’s why I can effortlessly create earthquakes with a simple dismissing flick of my hand. I… I had to do some awful things to reach my potential, but _look_ where I am and how powerful I am!”

“You’re not a Geomancer –”

“I can move mountains,” said the Master Mutilator. “I can lift trees with a look, create craters in the blink of an eye, and I could easily level a city by the time you lift your wand. Do you desire to test me?”

“You’re delusional,” said James, lifting his wand upwards, snapping it towards an injured Bernard and throwing him across the dirt road. “You’re no Geomancer, no matter how hard you wish you were. You’re hardly a threat to anyone around here. I dare say even the hags in Knockturn Alley would give you a run for your Galleons. Now, whatever your _real_ name is, I’ll give you one. Last. Chance to put down your wand and come into the Ministry of Magic for questioning.”

“Why would I do that?” said the Master Mutilator. “Just because you can throw around a weak-willed wizard like Bernard? No… no, Bernard is not as nearly as impressive as me. Throwing him across the path may make the normal clap, but not me.”

“What do you mean by the ‘normal’?”

“Normal people,” said the Master Mutilator. “People that aren’t special like me. He had his own special bit of magic, we all do, but not as special as mine.”

Harry inched a little closer to the small group of people, their chatter going from whispers to almost shouting in the small distance he travelled. He realised that James must have put up some kind of dome spell that silenced everything inside of it. He glanced around and noticed that the spell the Master Mutilator had cast was halted abruptly, which meant that James had pre-emptively stopped it and contained the spell. He twisted his head to see if the spell had damaged any in the area and realised that nothing was damaged, it also explained the lack of commotion from the general public.

He peaked over a poorly transfigured fence, if the rocky texture was anything to go by, and studied the three men, who were obviously preparing for a battle of some sort. He would call it a duel, but it looked like Bernard was slowly getting to his feet. He knew, on some level, that James would not win a one versus two fight, especially if the Master Mutilator was honest in his claims that he was powerful. Bernard would be the deciding factor if James and the Master Mutilator were in fact equal in ability and power. As much as he would like to see James knocked down a notch or two, he did not think for a second that the Master Mutilator was one to be kind and compassionate with his defeated foes. His mother needed James, and Daniel could not grow up without a father, even one as lousy as James.

He mentality debated about joining in, knowing that Bernard was hardly a threat, seeing as he had mostly been strong-armed into joining a cause that he cared very little about by a wizard that was clearly insane. His biggest concern was the Master Mutilator. Insane people were unpredictable in what they did and that made determining the pattern the man used pointless as it would be erratic and unpredictable.

He quickly thought about the pros and cons of joining the battle, aside from the obvious. James was an Auror and basically was in pure awe of anyone who could hold their own in battle, whether the battle was a mock one or the battle was real. Of course, the latter would earn a bit more respect. However, this was an unusual predicament as he was certain James would be more concerned due to Lily, who would destroy him if he allowed something to ever happen to their children.

He climbed over the fence, only just managing to avoid stepping onto a toy that a child left behind, and slowly moved towards James and the Master Mutilator. Naturally, whenever he tried to be quiet, something would always just suddenly appear in his way and cause him to make a loud ruckus. He tripped over a small campfire and managed to right himself as all eyes slowly turned towards him.

“What are you all looking at?” he asked, pulling his wand from under his left forearm and holding it gently in his right hand. “I’m not the only person in existence to trip over something while trying to be silent. I’ll have you know, you’re more prone to making noise while trying to be quiet than you are while trying to be loud.”

“How’d you manage to bypass my Containment Charm?” said James, frowning slightly. “It was linked to my magic. It _should_ have been impossible for anyone to breach unless they – ah, well, that makes sense, then.”

“What’s this ‘Containment Charm’ you’re speaking of?” said the Master Mutilator, jabbing his wand towards the newest arrival. “You think you can contain my magic and power? Laughable! It would take a full squadron of Aurors to even manage to contain an inch of my power.”

“Okay.”

“‘Okay’?” said the Master Mutilator. “How _dare_ you simply say ‘okay’ to me.”

Harry stared at the Master Mutilator, both his eyes slightly closed as if he was tired and trying to fight sleep. He slowly moved his mouth, as if chewing, and stared at the insane man with a look that spoke a thousand words. He twisted, as discreetly as he could manage, towards James, his eyes locking onto the face of his ally in the upcoming duel. With wide eyes, he turned back towards the Master Mutilator, shocked that James had an amused expression on his face. He could not help but wonder how the man could find amusement in this situation.

He pondered, quite childishly, whether he should turn on James and make the fight a three on one. He could create his own little faction, watching as the Master Mutilator and Bernard took down James and then he would slowly slip behind them, like an assassin he read about, and attack from behind. It was something that all Slytherin students like to do, whether they were a first or seventh-year student. It was nothing more than blind ambition, a poor attempt to mimic their parents, who told exaggerated stories of their time at Hogwarts. It was disgustingly cliché of them, but it did pass time. It hardly helped that no child could ever create a reasonable and working plot like you would see in books. It all seemed quite silly when you thought about it, but that was just as bad participating. He agreed with Lord Atieno and Salazar, it was a tradition, even if it was a bad one, and trying to dissect and put it back together underestimated the game.

He dropped his eyes from the face of the Master Mutilator, which was a horrific sight, and focused more on the wand that was held clenched in his hands. There was no point in debating about James as he would never lift his wand towards the man with malicious intent. His mother needed the man, as did Daniel. He watched as the Master Mutilator lifted his wand and threw a sickly yellow spell into the air. He tilted his head as it splashed off a bright red dome.

“You tied the Containment Charm to your blood?” he asked. “Foolish.”

“Not foolish, Harry,” said James, wincing. “Sometimes you have to make a choice between containing the greater threat, putting yourself at risk, or letting it run free and causing destruction. I didn’t get to where I am by being a bystander.”

“Fine,” snapped Harry. “It was reckless, then. You tied to the spell to your own magic, which means that it will not stop unless you’re dead or will it. A side note is that no one can get in, except for people who have your magic. Yourself and your children.”

“You shouldn’t be learning about this kind of magic, especially not in your third year,” said James. “Been looking in the Restricted Section?”

Harry made a dismissing sound, waving his hand in the process. He aimed his wand, which he held loosely and with the confidence of an experience duellist, towards the Master Mutilator. It was the stance of each person that shocked him. While he held his wand with three fingers, holding it loosely, oozing confidence. James held his wand just as loose, but with his hand in a fist. Bernard held his wand with both hands, his left hand holding his right wrist. The Master Mutilator looked like he was trying to snap his wand.

“There’s nothing else to do at Hogwarts,” he said, continuing the conversation. “All the rare and obscure branches of magic are for those in their final year. I’m ahead by years in all the core classes… why wouldn’t I go to the library to learn about spells beyond my talents? I’m not casting them, of course.”

Before any more words passed between father and son, the Master Mutilator grew bored of watching lips move and aimed his wand towards a nearby tree, the only one in the vicinity, and snapped out a spell, pulling the entire tree, decorations included, out of the ground. He held it in the air for a period, showcasing his ability to hold such a large and complex object so perfectly skill, before he leisurely said a curse, sending the tree spiralling through the air.

James ducked, his hazel eyes wide, and dropped onto one knee, intent on avoiding the flying tree with everything he had in his body. He whispered out a curse, the variation that teenagers often used to express their anger, and cradled his knee, surveying the damage he caused from dropping directly onto a sharp rock. He shimmied slightly, aiming his wand at the Master Mutilator, his eyes narrowing as he realised the man was laughing. He had no idea what could cause the man to laugh until he glanced to his right and saw his son still standing.

Harry ignored James and his interfering ways. He did not need, nor did he want, to see the man finally realise that his son had not ducked to the ground like a coward, and then throw up some kind of glimmering red spell that looked like a wave of fire. Sure, it was impressive and quite touching, but he had plans for that tree, plans that kept him standing still, preparing to take the thing to the face.

“ _Depulso_!” he snapped out, flicking his wand upwards at the tree and sending it flying back towards the Master Mutilator, who hardly expected it. “ _Diffindo_!”

The Master Mutilator replicated the spell across from him, creating a wall of fire so hot it instantly turned the tree into a scorched mess that was instantly hit with a Blasting Curse, filling the air with ashes, which he sent with a spell to replicate the breeze of wind, towards his opponents.

“ _Protego_!” he said, snapping his wand towards the Severing Charm. “I don’t think this is fair. Your companion seems to be only capable of using spells you’d find in duels in school – hardly worthy of my time and effort. Bernard, deal with him.”

Harry did not consider a Banishing Charm and a Severing Charm schoolyard spells used in duelling. In fact, he was certain most people would avoid the latter due to the fact it could cause death and most duels in school were harmless. He would not start a verbal argument about his skills. He loved to be underestimated and when he sent Bernard flying through the air, he would get the last laugh. He watched as Bernard, the man who cradled his left arm, stood and slowly shambled towards him.

“Really?” he said, glaring at Bernard for a split-second before turning it onto the Master Mutilator. “I think you asked me to fight him ‘cos you’re scared. I mean, you’re trying to hide from facing me at all. It’s no problem, I can deal with Bernard before you can blink and then I’ll turn onto you. I’m a well-rounded dueller, you – _Protego_! – now, that was rude.”

“I see the boy can move and has a reaction time greater than half my allies,” said the Master Mutilator, laughing. “I fear I will lose you, Bernard. Look at his eyes and tell me what you see.”

Harry missed whatever Bernard had replied, which shocked him more than the reason why he was distracted. He twisted his head to James, who nodded, and went back to his thoughts. He had no idea how they hear each other when no one was yelling, or speaking loudly, and that they were quite the distance apart. It hardly seemed logical, especially considering the nature of the duel. He turned back towards James and frowned, wondering if he knew what was going on.

‘It could be multiple things,’ he thought, blocking a spell from Bernard. ‘But I’m certain James was the one to cast it. It has to be some kind of Auror spell.’

“ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Protego_!”

“ _Bombarda_!”

Harry only just managed to avoid a dark orange spell, one that he did not recognise. It was mainly pure dumb luck, even more so, seeing as he lost his footing and slipped on a bit of mud, which allowed for the spell to miss him by the skin of his teeth. The laughter, which sounded quite deranged, that followed shortly afterwards was hardly smile-worthy.

“ _Quietus_!”

“ _Sonorus_!”

Harry felt stupid at the thought. He should have realised that the spell in play was the Amplifying Charm. He wondered why James continued to renew it, knowing it made any and all forms of communication between them pointless. Granted, it allowed for spells to be known as they were being cast, but this was nothing more than a hindrance. The enemy would not gain an edge, but neither would they. Although, even though he was quite reluctant to admit it, he could see that it was quite an ingenious idea, even if it did limit what they could do duel wise. He would use the spell in the future if the need ever arose.

He blocked a spell and sent one back, making sure to level a glare at Bernard, who had tried to hit him while he was distracted. He smiled as he heard the Master Mutilator cast another Quietening Charm, which was instantly followed by an Amplifying Charm from James.

“I know you’re curious,” said James, blocking a spell with a gentle flick of his wand. “As are _you_ , I’m certain.”

“Me?” said the Master Mutilator. “The approach seems quite stupid, but it does offer you certain degrees of protection.”

“The Amplifying Charm stops them from casting anything too… forbidden and dangerous,” said James, hesitating slightly. “The last thing that I want is another spell to create an earthquake.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“It’s not meant to be fun,” said James, glaring at the Master Mutilator. He turned to his son and gave the boy a nod. “As I’m sure you’re aware, as you seem to study advanced material, there are quite a few spells that can – and will – cause immense destruction to caster, enemy, environment, and even the economy. The positive to this is that these spells are needlessly complicated and have some kind of casting lock, which means the caster can’t move or stop the cast. It also helps that the incantation for these spells is a paragraph and not two words like most spells. Without the charm in place, he could cast a spell and have Bernard protect him.”

“I see,” said Harry, returning his focus back onto the duel, his desire for an answer sated for the moment. “Wait a moment, how’re you casting it over the entire area?”

“Almost every spell in existence, at least those above what you learn in magical schools, can be cast to cover a large area,” said the Master Mutilator. “You seem confused, which means you’re younger than I assumed or your education is lacking. I’m assuming it’s the latter, due to the types of spells you’re casting… still practising _basic_ magic. Sticking to that concept is predictable and shows you’ve been taught nothing.”

“He’ll be learning it soon,” said James. “You can’t rush magic. You have to cast those schoolyard hexes and jinxes to progress into the more open branches of magic. I’m shocked, I’m sure you’d know this if you were as powerful as you say.”

“I _am_ powerful!”

“Then you’d know you have to crawl before you can walk,” said James, lifting his wand. “The exception is that my son will skip walking and go straight to running. Now, enough chit-chat, Aurors have already surrounded my barrier and I would like for you to be stunned before I drop it.”

“Father and son?” said the Master Mutilator. “A shocking partnership, one that should have been obvious when the boy made it through the barrier… Hm.”

“Do you talk so much because you like the sound of your own voice?”

“I must admit, I do have a quite melodic voice,” said the Master Mutilator, laughing. “However, speaking during battles or duels serves one purpose…”

“And that is?” said James, scoffing. “I assume annoying your enemy to death.”

“Speaking is a distraction,” said the Master Mutilator, lowing his voice in a way that made it seem like he was scolding a misbehaving child. “The more you are distracted with a pointless conversation, the more time I can add to creating defences around myself.”

Harry turned towards James, a small frown on his face because he had realised that he was lacking in attention, focusing primarily on the words of the Master Mutilator. He could not help but feel cheated, like the man was playing him like one would a fiddle. He scowled, wanting to just snap up his wand, scream the first incantation that came to mind, and blow the man clean across the ground.

He wondered whether the Master Mutilator was simply playing into the fears of James or whether this had been an elaborate plan. He realised this after his anger slightly ebbed away and he began to actually think. He watched, as calmly as possible, as James began to cast a wide array of spells, all while speaking to the man as if nothing had occurred. It made him curious whether speaking during duels or battles, whether casually or mocking, was some kind of required etiquette. In every duel he had seen, whether scripted or not, someone could not help but talk.

Then again, it was not as if duelling had a large community around it, seeing as the Ministry had pretty much outlawed the sport, not that anyone called it that, as soon as people started getting injured for initiating formal duels and then losing. All it had taken was one wealthy politician’s child to be beaten and then it was gone. Such was life, however.

‘There has to be something that makes speaking more appealing than just a distraction,’ he thought, studying the Master Mutilator with trepidation. ‘It simply can’t be the fact that most bad people like to speak, whether to someone or not.’

“Now, now, Bernard,” said the Master Mutilator, his voice unusually soft. “You were losing against a mere child, what makes you think I would allow you to duel an Auror, who you allowed to capture you in the first place? I think, in a way, the schoolboy is a better duelist than you and if you beat him, I _may_ let you kill the Auror. A small boon.”

Harry turned his head to the side, studying James, who was starting to look quite pale and sickly, which made no sense to him as he knew that the man had yet to be hit by a spell. Something clicked in his mind and he nearly groaned. The magical dome was taxing James, which the Master Mutilator knew and was aiming to distract and draw out the fight for as long as possible. Whether it was because it would turn the fight into a one versus two in the favour of the Master Mutilator and his undesirable friend was unknown to him at this point.

He frowned, knowing that if Hogwarts actually had an education that turned out knowledgeable wizards, this entire situation would have been avoided as he would have known how to cast, control, and counter battle magic. Instead, the entire country demanded that all witches and wizards learn spells that serve no purpose at all. The Levitating Charm was a useless spell, just like almost every other spell that was taught to the masses.

‘And to think, Hogwarts is claimed to be the best school,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Why couldn’t I have gone to Durmstrang? They at least teaching duelling, fighting, and other spells that are of use.’

“I think enough time has gone by,” said the Master Mutilator, waving his arms around dramatically. “I have things I need to do and staying at this event is not one of them. Just kill the boy, Bernard. From what I have seen, it would be best to be rid of the whelp.”

Harry sniffed and then frowned as the spells started to fly. He ducked behind something, not bothered to really check what he was using as cover. He glanced over and watched as James conjured a metal shield that appeared on his arm, resembling a medieval knight, and charged into a spell, blocking it with a wide sweep of the shield. He did admit, without much hesitation, that it was quite cool to witness. He felt a spell sail over his head, the sparks and anger he felt from the spell perplexed him, wondering if each spell had a different feeling and aura when it flew through the air. He made a quick mental note to study it later.

The two duels slowly lost all inkling of stability and turned into frenzied shouts, barked laughter as each spell drifted closer and closer, and the panting of four different wizards, exhausted from the constant movement.

He threw a spell towards Bernard, which hit a plastic bucket, obviously Muggle-made, and watched as it flew towards Bernard, hitting him in the face. He withheld his amused snort at the strange occurrence, putting it down to pure luck. Although, it did seem to make Bernard cry out in pain, his hand going to his right cheek, which had a piece of flaming bright blue plastic impaled in it. The manic laughter from the Master Mutilator hardly helped things. He took a step forward, knowing that Bernard would now duel fully aggressive, which suited just fine. No one could match him in an aggressive duel.

He turned toward James, who appeared to be locked in a rather close and dramatic duel with his opponent. The duel looked intense, so intense James had sweat on his forehead, which he managed to wipe away with his arm during an intricate wand movement. He did have to admit, James was talented at duelling, even more so due to him being able to cover all his weaknesses with practised ease. It was something he wished that he had learned during his time at Hogwarts. He would be going into his fourth year and he was just as clueless about magic as he was when he was a first-year student, eager to absorb any and everything he could.

He turned back towards Bernard, who appeared to have mended his face with remarkable ease, which made him quite curious on whether Bernard had been a healer at one stage. He managed to somehow block the sickly yellow spell that had been spiralling towards him with a hastily cast Shield Charm. He ducked the next curse sent his way, which had gone a tad too high, which was, once again, pure luck, due to Bernard stumbling on a bit of fence.

“ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Protego_! _Incarcerous_!”

“I didn’t need help,” snapped Harry, glaring at James. “I was doing fine! Focus on your own fight!”

James rolled his eyes and discreetly placed a protective barrier around his son, knowing that only the man in front of him would pick up on it. Quite advanced, but he would never brag about it. He flung a spell at the Master Mutilator, who easily blocked it. He followed up with a spell to replicate a lasso, which was instantly set on fire.

“Okay,” he muttered, exhausted. “I think it’s time to finish this so I can attempt to hush this idiocy up – _Expelliarmus_!”

“ _Accio_ Wand!”

Harry was somewhat impressed at the wandless magic the Master Mutilator just did, summoning his own wand before it snapped into the hands of James. That was something he would try as soon as he could.

“ _Bombarda_!” he said, his wand flicking upwards dramatically. He twisted his wand downwards and followed the Exploding Charm with a spell that would break the right arm of Bernard. He made a tutting noise when it missed and quickly followed with a quick Fire-Making Spell. He watched in amusement as Bernard began to shriek, patting down his left arm.

“ _Aguamenti_!” snapped the Master Mutilator. “Are you a wizard or not, Bernard? Use your wand! If the Water-Making Spell is out of your skill range, use the Extinguishing Spell.”

Harry snorted and watched as James managed to hit the Master Mutilator with a well-placed Severing Charm. He had to admit that the face the man made when hit by it was almost comical. It was such a simple spell that could be fatal if used correctly. Granted, he knew that James was aiming to injure the Master Mutilator’s right arm, not to kill him or cause serious damage.

“Now,” said the Master Mutilator, wincing slightly, “that will be your downfall, _Auror_. I was playing nice, too. Let’s see how you fare against _all_ my power!”

Harry really wanted to snort because that was about as cliché as you could get. He had been suckered into reading some more action focused books, and that line was used more times than he could count. If not that exact same line, it would be wealth, or influence, or respect. It was just repetitive garbage that no one would take seriously in real life. All respect he held for the man, which was very little, vanished into nothing.

He twisted his ankle, preparing to cast another spell, when the inside of the dome filled with black smoke. He coughed and covered his face, casting a quick Wand-Lighting Charm to light the area around him, which failed completely. He hardly had time to debate it when a spell landed directly in front of his feet, setting the ground aflame. He jumped back, surprised and backed up against a tree, wondering if anyone could see.

He jolted slightly when he felt two hands gently dig into his shoulders, pinning him in place. His eyes went win for a second before narrowing and the tip of his wand jabbed into the side of the person grabbing him. A spell was on the tip of his tongue when a floating blue flame darted around the man’s head, revealing James with his classic smile that made most people shake their heads. His eyes darted to the floating wisps of fire, which seemed to absorb the darkness at a rapid rate.

“What are –?”

“Bluebell Flames,” said James, smiling. “A rare sort of fire that consumes shadows. Quite interesting, don’t you think? They feed on –”

Harry stared at James, whose face went slack and tight as if he was fighting intense pain. He winced at the pain in his shoulders, knowing that James was hit by a spell, however, he was unable to move. He watched as the Bluebell Flames extinguished themselves, exploding in a bright blue that lit the entire dome. He took a shuddered breath, dropping his wand in the process, and darting his left hand towards his stomach.

He paused, running his hand over his stomach, trying to find something, his lip trembling, even as James muttered something into his ear. His green eyes slowly filled with tears, darting across the face of James in pure fear. He dropped to the ground, pulling James with him, a few seconds after the magical dome vanished and the Master Mutilator and Bernard vanished with a crack that sounded like thunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real valid excuse to why this took so long. Not a habit I plan to repeat. I feel a lot better now. 
> 
> You have all been so patient and great. :) I'll try not to let you all down again. I'll fix up any mistake later on if there is any left. If you see any, feel free to let me know.


	12. Pain

Chapter 12 – **Pain**  
Chapter revised: _Not Applicable_

“Speech” | ‘Thoughts’ | ‘ _Tom_ ’ | “ **Parseltongue** ” | _Memories / Flashbacks / Letters_

* * *

James paced around the sitting room, wincing with every few steps that he took. He glanced down at his torso, which was half covered in bandages, and sighed. He rubbed at his face and slowly dropped into an armchair, hissing in pain. He did not regret breaking the demanding orders of the Healer he visited. He had things to do, things that could not wait until he healed. He needed to track down the Master Mutilator and his accomplice.

A week had barely gone by and he was still livid that the Master Mutilator and Bernard were eluding him at every turn. The first thing he did was trace their magical signatures back to an abandoned hideout, which looked as if it was abandoned three days ago. After that, their trail went dark. No spells would work, no matter what sort they cast. He even asked one of the best trackers in the country, someone who was able to locate almost anyone without issue, failed to find the Master Mutilator. The only positive was that they found out what the real name of the Master Mutilator was.

Jeremy Watkins.

The name was almost boring and bland compared to the alias the man used, which was able to strike fear into anyone who heard it. Jeremy had been average in school, often handing in his homework late, had a serious fear of Severus Snape, hung around some nice boys who went on the invent some new plant species, and was in Hufflepuff. However, over the course of the years that the boy attended, he developed an unhealthy obsession with alliteration, often only handing in work that displayed it.

He had asked Dumbledore, and even Snape, and both had admitted that he was a student and both admitted that the boy had gone through a period where he only spoke in alliteration. Dumbledore then smiled and said that Mr Watkins dropped it after a day or so because it became tedious.

“What caused this young boy to go from a model Hufflepuff, one that helped anyone who needed it, despite his lack of intelligence, into a cold-hearted torturer who killed people for no reason at all?” he frowned and tilted his head towards the cat, the same very cat that his wife had recently acquired to give comfort to Daniel. “What do you think…? Wait, what’s your name – oh my God, _Lily_! Mittens? _Mittens_! Did you call our cat Mittens?”

“I did.”

“ _Mittens_!”

“It’s a lovely name and it suits him,” said Lily, making a sniffing sound. “Look at his cute little paws! Also, quit yelling, you’ll wake up Daniel and then I’ll be annoyed. Mittens is a fantastic name, isn’t it, Mittens? Oh yes! Such a good little kitty!”

“Good lord!” whispered James. “This is why I wanted a dog!”

“Hush,” said Lily. “Now, what’s bothering you? The Healer said you need to _relax_. This ordeal with that man? What did you say his name was?”

“Jeremy Watkins.”

“How do you not remember him?” said Lily. “He was two years above us. He was the one who wet himself during his date with Andrea. Something about Andrea’s brother threatening him.”

“I don’t remember him at all,” said James, rubbing his head. “I saw pictures – he… he looks familiar, but I just can’t remember him.”

“Maybe you should get in contact with Sirius,” said Lily. “I know he’s off doing God knows what, but he may be the thing you need. You two were always fantastic when you worked together. Half the things you did, none of which I approve of, wouldn’t have been done if not for you two.”

“Remus –”

“Contributed,” said Lily, cutting him off, “but it was always you and Sirius. I was Head Girl, you know. I knew what conniving you did and I stupidly turned the other way.”

“I know, but –”

“You miss him.”

“Can you stop cutting me off?” said James, stifling a laugh. “Yes, yes. You know me more than I know myself, but come on, Lily, give a man a break.”

“If you don’t talk about it, nothing will ever get better,” said Lily. “You did everything you could. You tried, that’s all you can do. Talk to me, James.”

James rubbed his chin, his eyes looking at the white ceiling, hoping to find the answers in the small swirls of paint. He found no answers, but he realised that he had been neglecting his wife just a little bit, not finically or romantically, just including her.

“Alright,” he muttered after a few moments of silence. “Harry pretty much completed Remus’ aspiration and dreams. He managed to, somehow, create a spell that can contain werewolves. Remus was smart, even though he denied it and claimed Sirus and I were smarter, but he was never able to find or make a spell to the extent Harry had.”

“I see,” said Lily. “And you and Sirus were intelligent, your marks proved it. Remus was quite smart, but you and Sirius were top of the year.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said James. “I know, I know. The point is that Harry accomplished what Remus had been seeking for years. I know my son didn’t murder my best friend, I know this, but it’s so hard to not see how excited Remus looked, even during his transformation. He always had amazing control over the werewolf side of him. He was delighted. Things go wrong, I know that, but… but I wish they didn’t.”

“Dumbledore thinks that you blame Harry,” said Lily. “He pulled me aside one day.”

“I don’t,” said James. “For a while, it hurt to see him and then put my best friend’s death to his face, but I don’t think he did it intentionally. Snarky Slytherin that he is, I doubt he willingly killed Remus. I am ashamed that he used Remus’ death in a manner that benefitted him, but are you really surprised? I’d would’ve done the same thing – not in the same manner, but used it to get _something_ out of it so I could make my future better. He created a spell at thirteen. Not even Snape did that and we know how gifted he was at spell creation.”

“You need to tell him.”

“Tell who? Harry?” said James. “He knows, doesn’t he?”

“Sometimes, I swear you can be the most dim-witted and oblivious person on the planet,” said Lily, exasperated. “Harry knows that you don’t blame him for the unfortunate death of Remus. He _knows_ this. What he doesn’t know is how to cope with the fact he accidentally killed someone and has no one there to help and guide him.”

“I… uh…”

“And, James, he had no comfort at all,” said Lily, shaking her head. “No one really cared about the death of Remus, except for us, and the whole of the Ministry celebrated what he did, clapping him on the back and handing him awards and recognition. That would send mixed signals to even the most honourable of us. He was praised for killing someone. Killing someone, whether by mistake or not, changes you in ways you would never expect. I’m shocked that you weren’t more aware of this, seeing as you cried every night for a month after you killed someone on the field.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Not saying it to make you feel bad,” said Lily. “You were an adult when that happened, supposedly mature, though I doubt it, Harry killed someone at thirteen, still a hormonal teenager.”

“I see your point,” said James, cupping his face with his hands. “We neglected him, seemingly getting lost in the fact that he was so independent and had this aura that just screamed he was okay and wanted to be alone. But, he was _fine_. I was there, I saw him and he was just… fine. There was no guilt or even sadness on his face. He masked it well.”

“I guess he had no chance to do anything else,” said Lily. “Everything has moved quickly and now there’s another magical terrorist?”

James sighed, mentally preparing to once again put his son second as he refocused on Jeremy Watkins, who he would no longer call the Master Mutilator because it just felt quite silly, especially considering that he had gone to school with the man.

“I don’t think Watkins fall into the terrorist category,” he muttered. “He somehow learned some obscure magic, which obviously warped him, and now he just harms people and believes that he’s something more than he really is. He’ll never be on the scale of previous terrorists. He’s more of a murderer than anything.”

“I guess he’ll be thrown in Azkaban when caught?”

“He’ll be Kissed!”

“What do you mean?” said Lily. “He can’t be _Kissed_ , even if he has done some questionable things.”

“He should be,” said James. “He deserves it.”

“I agree, but it was you that pushed to remove the Kiss as a punishment and we can’t have you going back on your word,” said Lily, hugging her husband. “It’s bad enough that the Minister still wants them at Azkaban…”

“We still have no idea how to get rid of them,” said James, frowning as he hugged his wife a bit tighter than usual. “Doesn’t help they’re pushing boundaries we set. They could simply break it at any time. I know Dumbledore was sending someone to Estonia due to a recent infestation they had.”

“They seem to prefer cold climates,” said Lily. “Antarctica, according to some specialist from France, is full of them, just roaming around.”

“Hm.”

“I wonder if the warmth of places is a similar feeling to the warmth of happiness,” said Lily, stepping away. “We know that they cause sadness and a sense of worthlessness, but they also cause it to rain heavily and even ice to appear.”

“I think you may be onto something,” muttered James. “I’ll pass it on in your name. You, however, distracted me from the original point. I want Watkins to suffer for what he did to our son.”

“James –”

“Because of him, our son is currently barely alive in St Mungo’s!” said James, clenching his fists. “If I didn’t move when I did…”

“I swear, James, it’s that Potter luck that I used to laugh at,” said Lily. “Every time you mentioned it, I would laugh and think you were joking but the sheer amount of things that happened were nothing short of coincidental. The fact you did what no one would have done and moved in front of him, then the fact Watkins’ spell went _through_ you, missing anything vital, and then hit Harry, only just nicking something – I wish the Healers would say something – is just too much. They said if your body was tilted just a little more to the left, he would have died.”

* * *

James paced up and down the hallway, his side pulling with each strained step, easily ignoring his wife who kept sending him pointed looks to sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs lined across the wall. He hated St Mungo’s more than he hated any sort of Muggle hospital. All of them smelled the exact same way, a distinct smell that he would never forget. Death. He had no idea how that smell was meant to make him sit down, inhale it, and be calm.

He had no idea how his wife managed to stay so calm and certain that everything would be fine. She had been putting far too much faith in the whole ‘Potter luck’ tripe that he often spouted whenever something went right in his life. It felt like he had been thinking about that quite too much recently.

He paused when he heard a door open, waiting for it to be the Healer that was assigned to the room of his son but only received a sympathetic look in return. His pacing continued.

“Just sit down,” said Lily. “There hasn’t been any change with him and the Healers aren’t too keen on constant notices due to potential complications. It’s the same reason why they don’t tell you that you’ll live. You know this. They don’t do false reassurances.”

“Forgive me, Lils, but _you_ were the one in a fret before we got here,” said James, turning to give his wife one of his heart-warming smiles. “As long of us stays sane, I think the other should be able to worry. It’s my turn to worry now.”

“Your turn…” said Lily, disbelief slowly spreading across her face. “I was worried because you were worried. You’ve spent every waking moment fretting and pacing. I panic for my carpet, James.”

“Well,” said James, halting, “this isn’t your carpet, so you shouldn’t worry about it at all.”

“Because you’d stop the moment we got home,” said Lily, moving the Daily Prophet off the chair next to her. “Just come and sit down. The Healers are doing their best and that’s all that we can ask.”

“I don’t trust them.”

“Who?”

“The Healers,” said James, giving his wife a look that screamed for her to agree with him. He sighed after a moment of silence. “I know that you worked here for a bit –”

“I did,” said Lily, “but it was off and on, as you know. Not long enough to form any lasting opinions.”

“Long enough to form _some_ ,” said James, sitting. “How can you trust any of these people? I mean, I’m glad they’re looking after Harry, but they do _other_ questionable things.”

“You better not be hinting at that case, James.”

“I am!” said James. “No one will ever forget that betrayal.”

“Most have.”

James would never forget that particular case. He had been tracking a wizard down for weeks, a wizard that was astonishingly good at covering his own tracks, scrubbing any sort of tracking spell instantly. The wizard was an ex-Auror, one who was quite talented in finding and erasing magical tracks. He had even pinpointed a common meeting place You-Know-Who had used. This particular branch of magic was rare and the man was idolised among his fellow Aurors. However, he clearly had a penchant for Muggle torture and would cover his own tracks. Eventually, one track was found and then the rest came crumbling in and a lot of previous cases were pointing back to him.

Cadell Hackett was his name and that name would forever be remembered with pure hatred among the Aurors. He had tarnished, exploited, and caused havoc. His other questionable activities were overlooked as he was so good in the field, but that was a mistake that would never be made again.

What made him so infamous is that he had cut his own arm off when restrained and then instantly fled. The Aurors had given chase and covered all known locations where an injured man would go, except for St Mungo’s. All of them expected the Healers to call the Aurors if he arrived, he was a known criminal and had a bounty on his head. That never happened. The Healers patched the man up, giving him a magical arm, and then Cadell had stolen a wand, slaughtered three Healers, six Muggles, and set fire to a building before he was killed.

Despite all that, the Healers had defended their actions, sorrowful for the events, but refusing to change anything different if they could. They claimed that it was their job to help everyone, no matter if they were wanted or not. Some even went as far as claiming they would help You-Know-Who if he ever came in while injured.

“I never will,” he said, standing once more. “All they had to be was responsible human beings. They chose their job over honour.”

“Honour, James?” said Lily. “Their honour is saving everyone that can be saved. No one would have sat there and subdued a man that was missing an _arm_. He would have died with Healers, people qualified to heal him, just watching.”

“It’s the stupid Healer Oaths, isn’t it?”

“There are no such thing as Healer Oaths,” said Lily, trying not to laugh. “Are you under an Auror Oath? They do not talk about their job due to confidentiality and respect. If there was an oath in place, they could not tell family members that one of their kin has died. It goes against the trusting nature they try and maintain, anyway. They save people because they want to. They keep quiet about _everything_ because they want to. The only job that actually binds you to oaths and vows are Unspeakables.”

“Then why do they push the idea that they use oaths?”

“To stop people meddling and asking questions,” said Lily. “No one will ask a question if it supposedly cannot be answered.”

“Stupid…”

“Smart,” said Lily, smiling. “You should propose a similar idea for your Aurors.”

The two of them continued to bicker and discuss the finer details surrounding Healers and their supposed agreement to not disclose any information under the guise of a Healer Oath. Neither of them made any progress into the debate, seeing as James kept his stance that it was unacceptable for them to lie, cheat, and manipulate people into believing they could not speak on the subjects. In the end, Lily just rolled her eyes and focused on the white wallpaper opposite her, wondering how long they would be there.

It was fifteen minutes when a Healer entered the corridor and paused in front of them. Lily had instantly gripped the arm of her husband so tight it caused him to wince. They had a small stare off until a silent agreement was made. Both of them turned towards the Healer, who had nervously cleared his throat.

“Mr and Mrs Potter, I assume?” said the Healer, looking quite nervous at getting in-between the two of them. “We have managed to stabilise your son without any complications. We had to go out of our comfort zone, but it worked. You can come in and see him, but he will not be awake as we had to put him into a deep sleep so that he didn’t wake up or move. He’ll be this way for a few days then we can wake him up with the antidote.”

“You had to force him to be asleep?” said Lily, standing. “Why?”

“Because his treatment required some finesse,” said the Healer. “Most of us are used to forcing a potion or two down a throat, waving out wands. We can remove and regrow bones in under twelve hours, reattach limbs that haven’t been cut off by the Dark Arts in less than five minutes, but we cannot heal what you son went through without finesse and time.”

“That sounds like a long way of saying that you don’t know.”

“James!”

“It’s quite fine, Mrs Potter,” said the Healer. “It truly is because, being honest, we didn’t know what to do. When we consulted a Muggle doctor, they were quite surprised the boy was even alive. Something about something vital being nicked and that the boy _should_ have died instantly. In fact, I assumed that it was magic, but there have been no known cases of magic actively defending a witch or wizard, else we would all be immortal. A true anomaly.”

“None of that explains why he had to be put to sleep,” said James. “We’ve already established that your magic will not help you passively. Accidental magic is _different_.”

The Healer remained quiet for a few moments, his eyes darting between each grieving parent with concern. He was not a new Healer, he knew that sometimes parents got obsessive over everything that happened when their child was clinging to life. He had a strong feeling that this scenario was quite different and would require just as much finesse, if not more, than the actual surgery had taken.

“Because, Mr Potter, we were required to keep him still for as long as needed,” said the Healer. “Your son was in a critical condition, even moving an inch could have undone hours of progress. The Muggle we contacted suggested that we kept him unconscious.”

“And?”

“And we are not accustomed to this type of healing,” said the Healer. “Your wife is a Muggle-born, ask her about how advanced Muggle practices have become.”

“Not as far as someone would think,” said Lily, speaking before her husband could. “The magical population have done more extreme things, like being able to regrow bones within a single night. Muggles are still quite advanced, but solely in the basics.”

“Yes!” said the healer, quite excited. “It takes us less than a night to mend broken bones whereas it could take _months_ for a Muggle to mend the same very bone. That’s not all, though, we – magical people – excel at the opposite spectrum of healing. The Muggle doctor said we were more… radical and intense with what we treated. Muggles excel more on patience and waiting, using time to heal.”

“This is all fascinating,” said James, “but nothing about this has told me why my son is in the state he’s in. You just told me that we focus on healing the extremes yet my son is hardly healed.”

“Ah.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Don’t be rude, James,” said Lily. “You’re as bad as a teenager.”

“It’s quite fine, Mrs Potter,” said the Healer. “If I’m to be honest, Mr Potter has been less aggressive and rude than I expected. Some people get quite angry when they don’t understand.”

“I don’t mean to be snappish,” said James, muttering softly as he ducked his head. “I’m – I’m just exhausted. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. I don’t have much left to give and I’m just – I’m at the end of my tether, I think.”

“I don’t blame you,” said the Healer, gesturing the couple to follow him. “Your son is still be prepared and will be for a few more minutes, so let’s go have a cup of tea and then I’ll bring you back and you can see him.”

James followed his wife, who would stop every now and then to ask the Healer a question, who seemed to take the constant interruptions in their walking with stride. Lily was always, according to him, the more studious of them both. He was no slacker, either, but he never had the sheer determination to learn everything he could. Lily always had a book and a quill in her hands, determined to figure something new out. Her studious nature had dimmed slightly, but not enough to change her core personality.

He listened, with half an ear, as the Healer explained the copious amounts of magic that had been placed into this building. Almost every tile in the building had been hand placed and imbued with magic. He looked at a tile, one that he had scuffed his shoe on, and watched as it cleaned itself without prompt by a witch or wizard. To say that he was shocked was an understatement as he had no idea this level of magic was even possible. He spared a glance towards his wife, he was clearly used to this level of magic, most likely due to the fact she had worked here.

He glanced downward, studying the dark blue line that was slowly leading him into an unknown direction. He studied the intricate white scribbles inside of the darker blue line, curious about why the line needed a pattern. It was not until he blinked that he realised the white scribbles were not scribbles at all, they were forming the same word over and over. _Canteen_. No matter how he moved his head, looking at the white words from different angles, which was sure to make him look like a curious child, the words inside of the dark blue line always flipped so that he could read them. He saw them reverse when he looked at the floor in a mirror from a door.

“The words in the lines are well beyond anything I’d have ever thought up,” he said, blinking twice when the Healer abruptly stopped and faced him with a genuine smile. “Who came up with it?”

“It was one of the cleaners, actually,” said the Healer, grinning. “Their parents, at the time, were experimenting with magic and, well, found a way to imbue stone with magic to make it clean itself every thirty minutes. Apparently, according to the cleaner, his family had been working on it since around the seventeen hundreds.”

James listened to the explanation, his confusions increasing more and more with every word the Healer used. He knew, without a doubt, that this type of magic was lost on him. Finesse and patience were not where he shined. He simply shuddered at the thought of placing each tile by hand, one by one. In the canteen, there were thousands of tiles on the floor alone.

Of course, when he asked what the point of self-cleaning tiles were, knowing that almost every witch and wizard could flick their wand, mutter a word, and clean the entire corridor in less effort, he was stared at like an extinct animal. A potion did not need a meticulously cleaned room like Muggles needed. It simply made very little sense.

It felt like he had barely drunk half his tea before the Healer was checking something on his person, perhaps searching for a message. While his Aurors used a bracelet to relay messages, he was certain Healers would avoiding anything too magical in case it interfered with healing spells.

“You needn’t drink your tea so quickly, Mr Potter,” said the Healer, grinning behind his own cup of tea. “I’m sure your tongue would thank you for not burning it clean off. Your son isn’t in any danger or a critical situation that requires us to quickly gulp down our drinks. Regardless, he isn’t in a state which you would want to see.”

“Is he –?”

“He’s fine,” said the Healer. “Your son is being bathed. I dare assume he would never forgive us if we allowed him visitors while he’s in such a state.”

“Oh!” said Lily, laughing quietly. “I guess that explains why you’re so intent on delaying us visiting.”

“Why aren’t you just using the Cleaning Charm?” said James, placing his half-empty teacup onto the table. “It would work just as well and would stop someone having to scrub someone down by hand. Granted, I’m sure Harry wouldn’t mind a pretty young girl bathing him…”

“Actually, Mr Potter, we have a strict policy within St Mungo’s that only male staff members may attend to male patients,” said the Healer. “It’s the same for female staff and patients, as well. It never used to matter because of trust, but when a concerned parent heard, they mentioned that a male staff member could take advantage of their daughter while bathing them.”

“It’s not just the men that can take advantage of someone,” said Lily. “A girl can easily take advantage of a man.”

“We know,” said the Healer. “It’s all nonsense, anyway. Not one case of it ever happening here yet we had to bend to the whims of an over-concerned parent. It has caused some delays as men are often employed as Aurors, lacking finesse for healing.”

“Isn’t that a stereotype?”

“It is,” said the Healer, “but you’re a prime example, Mr Potter. Men have a natural affinity for more destructive magic whereas females have the finesse and carefulness to excel in healing.”

“I see,” said Lily, understanding the theory behind the concept. “Not a foolproof concept, but it does make sense. It’s the same reason why most men aren’t homemakers. It simply requires too much finesse and precision.”

“What about homosexuals?”

“James!” said Lily, exasperated.

“It’s alright, Mrs Potter,” said the Healer, scratching his chin. “A valid question and one often overlooked. It was something we _all_ thought about long and hard on, curious whether it could be a big deal that a gay man was working here. We eventually came to the conclusion that if someone cried about men bathing their daughters, then people would complain about a gay man bathing their child.”

“I wouldn’t want a strange man bathing my daughter.”

“And I wouldn’t want a strange woman bathing my son,” said Lily, staring at her husband. “I guess it just happens. However, a male understands a male’s body and that makes sense that another man would know what’s best. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about hygiene for a teenaged boy.”

“Indeed,” said the Healer, nodding. “When I was a young lad, I hit myself with a spell gone wrong and needed almost an entire week of care. As a teenager, I _wanted_ a female Healer, but I got a male, much to my chagrin. In the end, I learned more about my body, mental health, and magic from that male than I would have from a female. However, some females simply excel in branches and fields that males cannot.”

“We’re sidestepping the topic about homosexuals,” said James. “I don’t mind them – I have homosexual friends.”

“We have them employed,” said the Healer, “but they aren’t in any position that allows them to see anyone naked, whether underage or adult. The stigma about homosexuals being rapists and child molesters is still around and abundant in certain circles. I’m not against them, but you understand.”

“I do, but it’s not right,” said Lily. “Just because a man likes a man doesn’t mean he’s attracted to children! It’s idiotic!”

“It will take many, many years before it’s even looked at differently,” said the Healer. “Until then, I urge anyone that’s homosexual to keep it quiet and have it behind closed doors where no one can see or know. Being slightly feminine doesn’t mean you’re a homosexual, of course.”

“Let’s change the topic.”

“I agree,” said the Healer, checking his wrist for a moment before standing. “Come – it’s time. However, Mr Potter, we can’t use magic on a patient that has suffered from spell damage due to potential long-term damage. Magic reacts to other forms of magic and that could cause a maelstrom inside of your son that could very well cause him death or even put a dampener on his own magic. It’s just not worth the risk.”

“Cleaning yourself with water is also far more relaxing,” said Lily. “It helps to relax the body, triggering some kind of meditative state that eases pain and accelerates natural healing. Plus, there aren’t too many spells that can actually clean you like a nice hot bath.”

James trailed behind his wife and the Healer, trying to mentally prepare for what he was about to see. He knew, deep down, that the whole situation was serious as most magical people believed in their own methods and would never believe that more magic could create issues. Of course, healers were a little different from the standard witches and wizards that believed magic was everything and not having it would be devastating to their own wellbeing and lifespan.

He paused when the Healer reached the door that led into the little room his son was staying in and he considered this to be a position of rest, a spot where he could mentally prepare, even more than he did on the long walk here. He waved his wife in, who gave him a sympathetic look, and took a deep breath, hoping his son would be alright and nothing was really wrong and the Healers were just being overdramatic, like always.

He stood there for about thirty seconds and heard no screaming or crying coming from the room, which meant that, maybe, the whole situation was not quite as bad as his mind had conjured. Granted, he did have quite the imagination, which helped amazingly in Transfiguration, so he was clinging to that.

He slowly inched into the room, his steps wobbly as he hoped and prayed for the best. He felt his whole body stiffen, his chest becoming tight, and his legs turning to jelly. He choked out something and wondered how anyone could go through something like this. He tried to speak, but was unable to really form anything besides a soft sob and then managed, somehow, to wrap his arms around his wife as he truly experienced just how serious this whole ordeal was.

The last thing he saw was a man bow, his blue eyes with traces of red, a sign of obvious sleep deprivation, ducking out of the room like a scolded schoolboy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. :( James is quite hard to write.
> 
> Late Happy Christmas and New Year!


End file.
